ESSENTIAL 
THING 


ARTHUR  HODGES 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 


DORIS 


The 

Essential  Thing 


By 


Arthur  Hodges 


Frontispiece    by 
Harrison    Fisher 


New  York 

Dodd,   Mead  and  Company 
1912 


Copyright,  1012 
BY  DODD.  MEAD  &  COMPANY 

Published,  March,  1912 


To 

M.  L.  S. 


2072084 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 


CHAPTER  I 

GOEFFREY  HUNTER  awoke  in  his  flat  in  the  Kenworthy 
Chambers  just  off  Fifth  Avenue,  feeling  very,  very 
wretched.  As  had  happened  more  than  once  of  late, 
he  had  drunk  too  much  the  night  before.  Glancing 
for  his  watch  and  not  seeing  it  on  the  small  table  at 
the  side  of  the  bed,  he  lay  still  for  a  minute,  trying 
to  determine  the  time. 

His  bedroom  was  a  large  square  apartment  with  two 
windows  looking  west  and  the  bed  in  which  he  now  began 
to  move  restlessly  was  of  mahogany  with  four  slender 
columns.  A  lambrequin  of  old  red  velvet,  such  as  one 
sees  in  Italian  churches  at  high  festivals,  hung  from 
its  cornice  and  at  each  corner  were  suspended  curtains 
of  red  damask.  An  air  of  rich  confusion  reigned. 
The  walls  were  hung  with  damask  and  his  bedspread 
had  been  fashioned  out  of  some  antique  vestments. 
A  chest  of  drawers  of  Dutch  marquetry,  grandiose  and 
impressive  with  its  swelling  front,  stood  between  the 
windows,  and  a  mirror  placed  in  an  ancient  Florentine 
frame  of  gilded  wood  and  hanging  above  it  reflected 
a  quantity  of  silver  toilet  articles  with  which  its  top 
was  littered.  A  sofa,  deep  and  luxurious,  occupied  the 
wall  opposite  the  chest  of  drawers,  and  between  the  bed 
and  the  fireplace  were  arranged  several  easy  chairs 
and  a  large  table  on  which  were  piled  a  quantity  of 


%  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

novels  and  reviews  in  English,  Italian  and  French. 
Some  Scutari  rugs  were  piled  in  a  corner,  a  large 
tapestry  carelessly  folded  occupied  one  end  of  the  sofa 
and  a  renaissance  crucifix  in  carved  wood  six  feet  long, 
which  had  been  sent  in  by  some  dealer  for  his  inspec- 
tion, rested  across  the  arms  of  one  of  the  chairs.  In 
addition  the  room  was  disordered  by  various  articles  of 
clothing  strewn  about  the  floor:  a  dress  coat,  a  white 
waistcoat,  a  pair  of  pumps  kicked  off  unceremoniously, 
his  watch,  and  a  badly  ruffled  silk  hat. 

Goeffrey  turned  his  head.  In  his  sitting-room  at  the 
right,  he  could  see  a  fire  burning  cheerfully  in  the 
grate,  and  from  somewhere  close  at  hand  came  the 
sound  of  running  water.  Presently  this  sound  ceased 
and  a  door  opened  and  softly  closed. 

"  Waters !  "  Goeffrey  called. 

A  stout,  smooth-faced  man  appeared  from  the  sitting- 
room. 

"What,  sir?"  he  asked  in  an  obsequious  manner. 
The  simple  vulgarity  of  this  phrase  which  Waters  al- 
ways used  in  answering  him,  often  amused  Goeffrey, 
but  this  morning  he  felt  irritated  by  it. 

"  What  time  is  it?  "  he  replied  shortly. 

"  Eleven  o'clock,  sir,"  Waters  answered,  and  seeing 
the  battered  hat  which  lay  almost  at  his  feet,  he  picked 
it  up  and  began  to  brush  and  straighten  it  dexter- 
ously. 

"  Mr.  Pandolfi  stopped  in,  sir,"  he  continued ;  he 
placed  the  hat  in  a  clothes  closet  at  one  end  of  the  sofa, 
moving  with  great  softness  and  agility,  and  emerged 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  3 

bringing  with  him  a  pair  of  trees  which  he  inserted  in 
the  pumps. 

"  He  called  to  ask  you  something  about  the  supper 
next  Thursday,  sir,  and — " 

"  Never  mind  that  now,  Waters,"  interrupted  Goef- 
frey,  who  was  turning  impatiently  in  bed. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Waters,  who  had  been  breathing  on  the  pumps  and 
rubbing  them  briskly  on  his  coat  sleeve,  put  them  has- 
tily down  and  seizing  the  evening  coat,  ran  to  the 
bureau  and  returning  with  a  clothes  brush  began  to 
brush  it  vigorously.  Suddenly  he  stopped  and  said 
earnestly : 

"  Mr.  Goeffrey." 

"What  is  it?  "  Goeffrey  answered  irritably. 

"  Don't  you  think  the  red  silk  tablecloth  will  be  the 
one  to  use,  sir?  " 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  About  the  supper,  sir  —  we  haven't  used  it  for  some 
time,  and  if  we  had  yellow  tulips  to  go  with  it,  the 
effect  would  be  most  pleasing.  I  mentioned  it  to  Mr. 
Pandolfi,  sir,  and  he  thought  it  an  excellent  idea,  only 
he  suggested  that  we  have  mixed  in  with  the  tulips, 
some  — " 

"  Please,  Waters,"  Goeffrey  again  interrupted, 
"  never  mind  about  that  now ;  wait  until  I  am  better  and 
then  we  can  talk  about  it." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I'm  sorry,  sir,"  answered  Waters,  his  face 
falling. 

The  coat  and  waistcoat  had  been   carefully  folded 


4  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

and  put  away,  and  Waters  picking  up  the  watch,  at- 
tacked the  trousers,  the  overcoat  and  the  shirt,  from 
which  the  buttons  must  be  removed.  Standing  by  the 
chest  of  drawers,  deftly  inserting  the  sleeve  links  into 
a  fresh  one,  which  he  had  taken  from  them,  he  paused 
and  said  quickly: 

"  Mr.  Goeff rey !  Miss  Adair  called  you  on  the  tele- 
phone last  night,  to  say  that  you  were  not  to  forget 
that  she  is  to  come  here  for  luncheon  to-day  and  that 
you  are  going  to  the  matinee  afterwards." 

"  Waters !  "  Goeffrey  sat  up  in  the  bed  and  spoke 
sternly.  "  I  want  you  to  pull  the  shades  down  and 
then  to  go  at  once,  do  you  hear?  " 

"  Oh !  yes,  sir,"  Waters  answered  hastily,  and  drop- 
ping the  shirt  he  ran  to  the  windows ;  he  could  not  re- 
sist, however,  while  passing  the  table,  picking  up  some 
of  the  magazines  and  leaving  them  in  a  neat  pile. 

Returning,  he  noticed  for  the  first  time,  Goeffrey's 
undershirt  lying  on  the  bed  and  stooping  over  to  pick 
it  up,  he  said: 

"  Shall  I  get  you  some  breakfast,  sir  ?  " 

Goeffrey  seized  the  shirt  and  tore  it  from  his  hands. 
"  Good  God !  Waters,  please,  please  go  away,"  he  fairly 
shouted,  and  Waters  disappeared  into  the  sitting-room 
shutting  the  door  after  him. 

Yes,  Goeffrey  was  feeling  very,  very  wretched:  his 
head  ached  with  a  dull  pounding  throb,  sharp  pains 
which  seemed  to  lurk  behind  his  eyeballs,  tortured  him, 
and  at  times  something  like  a  chill  swept  through  him. 
After  lying  for  some  time  with  closed  eyes,  hoping  that 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  5 

the  feeling  of  general  malaise  which  oppressed  him 
would  pass  away,  he  got  up,  went  into  the  bathroom 
and  swallowed  a  dose  of  some  nostrum  which  had  been 
recommended  to  him  as  being  efficacious  in  such  cases, 
getting  into  bed  again  quickly,  but  after  waiting  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  and  still  feeling  no  better,  he  got 
up  again,  determined  to  try  his  bath  which  Waters 
had  prepared  for  him,  hoping  that  the  cold  plunge 
would  prove  beneficial.  Instead  of  the  agreeable 
shock  he  usually  experienced,  the  water  seemed  cruelly 
cold,  and  jumping  out  quickly,  with  chattering  teeth,  he 
began  to  rub  desperately,  but  growing  colder  each  mo- 
ment, he  hurried  into  bed  again  with  a  groan,  mutter- 
ing: 

"  Good  God !  what  retribution." 

Finally,  getting  up  for  the  third  time,  he  dressed 
hurriedly,  tossed  on  an  overcoat,  seized  a  hat  and  went 
out. 


CHAPTER  II 

GOEFFREY  had  been  born  in  one  of  two  old  mansions 
which  stood  together  in  Waverly  Place.  The  other 
was  occupied  when  they  were  in  town,  which  was  sel- 
dom, by  his  cousin  Richard  and  Richard's  mother,  Mrs. 
Whitely,  who  was  his  father's  sister.  He  had  never 
known  his  own  mother,  because  her  life  had  been  the 
price  paid  for  his  birth,  and  for  many  years  he  rarely 
saw  his  father,  a  sad,  taciturn  man  who  came  back  only 
at  long  intervals  from  Europe,  where  he  had  gone 
after  the  death  of  his  wife  to  whom  he  had  been  pas- 
sionately attached.  Both  Mr.  Hunter  and  his  sister 
had,  through  long  residence  abroad,  become  thorough 
Europeans.  From  time  to  time  as  the  exigencies  of 
business  connected  with  their  properties  demanded,  they 
made  hurried  journeys  to  New  York,  but  these  had 
become  less  and  less  frequent,  their  friends  seeing  them 
so  rarely,  that  at  length  they  were  almost  forgotten 
and  no  one  came  any  more  to  the  houses  in  Waverly 
Place. 

So  Goeffrey  grew  up  a  very  quiet  and  lonely  little 
boy,  knowing  hardly  anyone  except  Mrs.  Wickes,  the 
English  housekeeper,  and  two  old  servants.  'Every 
year  about  the  first  of  June,  when  the  trees  in  Wash- 
ington Square,  bursting  suddenly  into  leafage,  warned 
them  that  summer  was  at  hand,  the  menage  was  moved 

6 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  7 

to  a  small  place  on  the  Hudson  owned  by  Mr.  Hunter; 
returning  to  town  again  in  October.  In  the  city,  as 
in  the  country  too,  one  day  was  very  like  another  to 
Goeffrey,  who  spent  his  time  trundling  his  hoop  in  the 
square  on  fine  days,  taking  long  aimless  walks  up  Fifth 
Avenue  with  Mrs.  Wickes,  or  when  the  weather  was 
stormy,  roaming  about  the  old  mansion.  The  whole 
house  was  his  playground  with  the  exception  of  the 
rooms  on  the  second  floor  in  which  his  mother  had  lived 
and  died  and  which  were  only  opened  when  Mr.  Hunter 
occupied  them. 

Goeffrey  knew  that  there  were  such  things  as  mothers 
because  his  cousin  Richard  had  one,  and  although  he 
had  only  seen  her  once  or  twice  that  he  could  remem- 
ber, he  thought  her  very  nice ;  but  what  his  own  was 
like  or  where  she  had  gone,  he  had  no  clear  conception. 

When  Goeffrey  was  seven,  his  father,  who  had  been 
away  for  two  years,  wrote  that  he  was  coming  back 
and  that  Mrs.  Whitely  and  Richard  were  with  him. 
Goeffrey  was  glad  to  hear  this,  because  there  had  been 
developing  in  his  childish  mind  a  feeling  that  all  was 
not  as  it  should  be  with  him.  Mrs.  Wickes,  growing 
old,  stout  and  self-indulgent,  left  him  more  and  more 
to  himself  and  he  was  dimly  conscious  that  there  was 
something  lacking  in  his  life,  something  which  he 
wanted  very  much,  but  which  it  was  impossible  for  him 
to  express.  He  had  a  father,  he  wished  that  he  could 
be  with  him.  He  had  almost  forgotten  that  he  had 
been  quite  afraid  of  his  father,  who  was  very  stern  with 
him  if  he  made  the  least  noise ;  and  when  he  thought 


8  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

of  him,  as  he  did  very  often,  he  only  remembered  him  as 
a  tall  man  with  a  fine  dark  beard,  of  whom  he  had 
been  very  proud.  Richard  and  his  mother  were  al- 
ways with  him  in  this  place  called  Europe  which  seemed 
so  far  away  —  why  could  he  not  go  there  too?  He  felt 
that  if  he  could  ask  his  father  if  he  could  go  back  with 
him,  perhaps  things  would  be  better  for  him.  He  could 
not  tell  just  how,  but  perhaps  it  would  be  different 
there.  They  were  going  back  very  soon  the  letter  had 
said.  At  least  he  must  ask.  So  when  Mr.  Hunter  at 
last  arrived,  had  shaken  hands  with  Mrs.  Wickes, 
greeted  the  other  servants  and  deposited  his  hand  lug- 
gage in  the  hall,  he  saw  a  pale  little  boy  with  dark  hair 
and  wistful  eyes  smiling  at  him  nervously,  his  hands 
clasping  and  unclasping.  If  he  was  aware  that  he  had 
neglected  his  son,  whatever  sense  of  failure  he  may  have 
felt  that  he  was  guilty  of  toward  him,  or  whatever  re- 
solve he  may  have  made  to  atone  to  him  for  it,  was 
swept  away  by  a  rush  of  painful  memories.  His  habit- 
ual feeling  of  indifference  changed  swiftly  to  one  almost 
of  hostility,  owing  to  an  obstinate  and  cruel  resentment 
toward  Goeffrey  as  being  the  cause  of  his  wife's  death. 
With  a  bare  word  of  recognition,  a  coldly  indifferent 
question  or  two,  he  turned  toward  the  stairs.  A  black 
cloud  of  disappointment  settled  about  Goeffrey's  heart, 
his  old  feeling  of  fear  had  come  back  again,  but  sum- 
moning all  his  courage,  he  said  in  his  quiet  child's 
voice : 

"  Father,  may  I  go  back  with  you  ?  " 

Mr.  Hunter  turned.     "  Where,"  he  asked  shortly. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  9 

"  To  Europe." 

"  Oh,  no,"  his  father  answered,  "  you  are  much  too 
young." 

"  But  Richard  goes,  father." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  Richard.  Richard  has  a 
mother." 

As  Goeffrey  walked  with  turned  up  collar,  shivering 
miserably  in  the  raw  air,  these  first  memories  of  his 
childhood  came  somehow  very  vividly  before  him. 

Others  followed. 

He  had  crept  to  his  room  and  thrown  himself  on  his 
bed  in  a  passion  of  tears.  He  had  realized  at  last, 
as  fully  as  it  is  possible  for  a  child,  that  he  was  lonely. 
He  felt  quite  alone  and  friendless.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
had  been  condemned  to  live  on  forever  in  this  house 
with  these  old  servants,  without  anything  to  make  him 
happy,  with  no  one  to  love  or  to  be  loved  by. 

Night  came.  The  little  bell  which  always  called  him 
to  tea,  sounded  faintly  through  his  closed  door.  As 
he  went  down  the  stairs,  his  attention  was  attracted  by 
a  bright  light  shining  through  the  open  doorway  of  one 
of  the  rooms  on  the  second  floor;  one  of  those  rooms 
which  had  always  been  closed  to  him.  Reaching  the 
landing  he  saw  hanging  over  the  fireplace  against  the 
opposite  wall  of  this  room  a  large  portrait  of  a  woman. 
A  reflector  fixed  above  shed  a  strong  light  upon  it,  and 
forgetting  that  he  was  entering  forbidden  territory, 
he  stepped  softly  in,  looking  at  the  picture  with  ab- 


10  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

sorbed  attention  as  if  drawn  to  it  by  some  inexplicable 
attraction. 

He  had  never  seen  anyone  so  beautiful  before.  She 
was  sitting  down,  dressed  in  some  greenish  stuff,  with 
a  cloak  of  fur  partly  covering  her  bare  neck  and  arms. 
One  elbow  rested  on  an  arm  of  her  chair  and  she  was 
leaning  forward  as  if  looking  at  someone.  Suddenly 
he  realized  that  she  was  looking  at  him,  looking  at  him 
with  an  expression  so  wonderfully  kind  and  tender, 
that  her  gaze  seemed  to  go  straight  into  his  heart,  mak- 
ing it  throb  so  quickly  that  he  pressed  his  hands  to  it 
unconsciously.  Something  radiant,  something  beatific 
seemed  to  envelop  him  and  with  his  whole  soul  he 
looked  back  at  her.  Oh,  that  he  might  put  his  arms 
about  her  neck,  rest  his  cheek  against  hers  and  be  com- 
forted. He  stood  quite  motionless,  he  did  not  know 
how  long,  until  a  slight  sound  startled  him  and  turn- 
ing he  saw  his  father  seated  at  a  table  watching  him 
with  his  old  hostile  look. 

"Is  that  mother,  father?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"Where  is  she,  father?" 

Mr.  Hunter  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  She  has  gene 
away,"  he  said  at  last,  "  and  you  must  not  ask  questions  ; 
go  to  your  tea  at  once,  the  bell  rang  long 
ago." 

He  remembered  that  he  would  have  liked  so  much 
to  ask  his  father  where  she  had  gone  and  when  she 
was  coming  back,  but  he  was  afraid  and  went  quickly 
out  of  the  room.  But  he  felt  very  happy  now  that 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  11 

he  had  seen  her.  How  beautiful  and  kind  she  looked. 
He  must  find  out  somehow  where  she  was,  so  that  he 
could  send  her  a  message,  asking  her  please,  please  to 
come  back.  He  must  not  ask  questions,  his  father  had 
said,  but  still  he  felt  sure  that  somehow  he  would  find 
her. 

That  night  he  dreamed  a  dream  which  was  both 
sad  and  sweet;  he  thought  that  as  he  lay  in  bed  his 
mother  came  and  sat  beside  him,  leaning  forward  in 
her  chair  with  the  same  tender,  half  smiling  look,  and 
climbing  quickly  up  to  her,  they  clung  together,  oh, 
so  closely  and  wept  together;  he  knew  not  why,  but 
in  the  delicious  agony  of  their  mingling  tears,  he  felt 
ineffable  happiness. 

He  is  in  the  room  of  the  portrait  again;  his  father 
is  not  there  but  he  is  standing  before  it  with  Mrs. 
Whitely  and  Richard. 

"  That  is  my  mother,"  he  is  saying  proudly ;  "  she 
has  gone  away,  but  I  am  going  to  ask  her  to  come 
back." 

Richard,  a  little  blond  boy  about  his  own  age,  who 
speaks  with  a  strong  French  accent,  is  looking  at  him  in 
amazement. 

"  Your  mother ! "  he  exclaims,  "  why,  she's  —  what  do 
you  call  it  in  English?  Oh,  yes,  dead!  She's  dead. 
Didn't  you  know?  " 

"  Dead !  "  he  asks,  "  what's  that?  " 

"  I  don't  know  exactly,"  answered  Richard,  "  but  when 
my  father  died,  they  took  him  in  a  long  black  box  to 


12  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Pere  Lachaise  and  put  him  in  the  ground.  I've  been 
there  many  times  with  my  bonne." 

"  Richard,"  cries  Mrs.  Whitely,  horrified.  But 
Goeffrey  in  one  of  those  flashes  of  intuition  by  which, 
without  previous  experience,  the  mind  comprehends,  un- 
derstands that  he  has  found  her  only  to  lose  her  again 
forever. 

That  night  he  dreamed  another  dream.  She  came  to 
him  as  she  had  come  before,  but  after  they  had  clung 
together  in  that  dear  embrace,  she  put  him  in  his  bed 
and  kissing  him  said  gently,  "  Good-by  my  Goeffrey." 
Long  he  watched  her  with  outstretched  arms  until  he 
saw  her  from  afar,  turn  and  say  again,  "  Good-by," 
and  answering  between  his  sobs,  he  too  called  "  Good- 
by,  Good-by,"  and  waked  to  find  his  face  still  wet. 

Often  after  this  his  dream  came  to  him,  and  always 
the  same,  always  that  dear  embrace,  that  parting  kiss, 
that  poignant  good-by  always  so  full  of  anguish  and 
yet  so  appealing,  so  tender,  that  his  last  thought  at 
night  was,  the  wish  that  it  might  come  again. 

He  remembered  how  Mrs.  Whitely,  touched  by  his  ob- 
vious loneliness  and  neglect,  had  pleaded  so  vigorously 
with  his  father,  that  she  had  finally  persuaded  him  and 
he  had  found  himself  suddenly  transported  into  a 
strange  world  amidst  unaccustomed  surroundings. 

He  remembered  his  early  life  abroad,  confused  im- 
pressions of  endless  changing  from  place  to  place ;  of 
long,  very  long  and  tiresome  journeys,  of  sojourns  in 
hotels  and  villas,  of  introductions  into  strange  schools 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  13 

where  unknown  tongues  were  spoken  which  in  some 
mysterious  way  became  suddenly  familiar  to  him.  He 
remembered  how  Richard  finally  went  away  to  enter  a 
school  in  England  and  how  much  he  had  missed  him. 
He  remembered  well  the  little  villa  on  the  Italian  Ri- 
viera which  his  father  had  purchased,  and  to  which  he 
went  to  find  relief  from  a  bronchial  affection,  taking 
Goeffrey  with  him,  where  at  last  a  faint  light  of  under- 
standing began  to  grow  up  between  them.  To  Goef- 
frey when  they  were  finally  settled  there  it  seemed  to 
him  as  if  he  had  come  home  at  last  after  his  years 
of  school  and  other  years  of  wandering,  and  he  grew  to 
love  that  old  country  with  its  olive  groves  on  their 
narrow  terraces,  its  rocky  promontories,  its  ruined 
watch  towers,  its  pagan  temples,  its  deserted  convents, 
the  cascades  and  the  sea.  But  above  all  he  loved  the 
mountains,  sitting  afar  off  he  used  to  think,  like  old, 
old  giants. 

And  as  he  thought  of  his  youth  there,  his  memory 
glowed  as  he  had  seen  the  sea  glow  under  the  bows  of 
the  fishermen's  boats  as  they  moved  slowly  in  to  shore, 
casting  ripples  of  phosphorescent  light  upon  the 
beach.  He  remembered  his  years  of  study  in  Paris  and 
his  last  visit  to  Italy  to  see  his  father.  A  recollection 
full  of  sorrow  because  they  had  come  to  love  each  other. 

They  were  seated  after  dinner  one  night  on  the  little 
terrace  in  front  of  the  house,  from  which  a  view  of  the 
sea  could  be  had,  spread  out  far  below  them.  Their 
desultory  conversation  had  lapsed  for  a  moment,  when 
Mr.  Hunter  laid  a  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder. 


14  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Goeffrey,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about 
your  future." 

Goeffrey  looked  up  quickly.  He  had  thought,  upon 
reaching  the  villa,  that  his  father  had  looked  quite  ill, 
but  as  the  days  passed  and  he  had  seen  nothing  spe- 
cific to  indicate  a  change  for  the  worse,  his  momentary 
apprehension  had  passed  away.  Now  it  returned;  his 
father  sat  beside  him  wrapped  in  a  shawl,  but  his  face 
under  his  beard  seemed  emaciated,  he  looked  very  old 
and  tired.  Goeffrey  felt  certain  now  that  his  cough 
was  more  obstinate  than  it  had  been  the  last  time  he 
had  seen  him. 

Mr.  Hunter  apparently  read  his  thoughts,  for  he 
made  a  reassuring  gesture. 

"  It  isn't  that,  Goeffrey,"  he  said,  "  I  am  as  well  as 
usual,  but  the  time  will  come  some  day  when  I  shall 
be  gone  and  one  must  discuss  these  things  sooner  or 
later.  What  I  wanted  to  say  was,  that  you  have 
never  had  any  experience  in  business  affairs ;  money  is 
very  hard  to  get  and  very  easy  to  lose,  and  although 
I  shall  leave  you  everything  I  have,  I  shall  place  it  in 
trust,  so  that  you  Avill  have  only  the  income  of  it. 
Would  you  object  to  that?  " 

"  Do  what  you  think  best  of  course,  father,"  answered 
Goeffrey. 

Mr.  Hunter  smiled  at  the  boyish  inconsequence  of  his 
answer. 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  he  answered,  "  that  you  have  no 
objections  to  my  plan;  you  will  be  very  well  off,  Goef- 
frey, about  thirty  thousand  dollars  a  year  I  should 
think ;  not  a  large  fortune  as  fortunes  go  in  these  days, 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  15 

but  enough  to  live  on,  and  even  to  marry,  as  I  hope 
you  will  sometime ;  but,  Goeffrey,  there  is  one  thing  I  am 
going  to  ask  you  to  promise  me  to  do,  even  if  I  should 
happen  not  to  be  here  to  remind  you  of  it.  Mr.  Davidge 
(whom  you  will  remember  to  have  met  in  Paris)  will 
administer  my  estate,  and  I  believe  that  he  will  prove 
to  be  a  very  honest  and  careful  custodian ;  still  one 
cannot  foresee  the  future,  and  I  want  you  to  promise 
me  that  when  you  finish  your  studies,  you  will  go  to 
your  own  country  and  for  a  time,  at  least,  practice  your 
profession.  It  is  wrong  to  leave  one's  country  as  we 
have  done.  You  may  find  that  your  education  here  and 
the  traditions  you  have  absorbed  may  make  life  there 
difficult  for  you,  but  promise  me  that  you  will  try ; 
practice  your  profession  there  for  three  years  and  if 
nothing  comes  of  it,  you  will  have  gained  practical  ex- 
perience which  may  prove  to  be  invaluable  to  you 
later.  Will  you  promise?" 

"Yes,  father,  of  course,  but  are  you  quite  sure  that 
everything  is  all  right?  "  Goeffrey  was  looking  at  him 
anxiously. 

"  Oh,  yes,  thank  you,  I  am  as  well  as  usual,  but  as 
I  said,  one  must  talk  of  these  matters  sooner  or  later, 
and  now,"  he  continued,  getting  up,  "  it  is  my  bed 
time,  and  as  you  will  be  leaving  very  early,  I  shall 
not  see  you  in  the  morning.  Good-by  and  good  luck, 
and  I  hope  you  will  be  down  very  soon  again.  Good- 
by." 

"  Good-by,  father,"  Goeffrey  answered,  filled  with  a 
premonition  of  approaching  evil. 

Mr.   Hunter   turned   toward   the   house,  but  before 


16  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

reaching  the  door,  he  stopped  and  came  back  to  Goef- 
frey's  side. 

"  Goeffrey,"  he  said,  "  when  you  were  a  little  boy, 
I  was  very  unjust  and  cruel  to  you.  Will  you  forgive 
me?" 

"  But  father,  of  course,  I  think  I  — " 

"  It  was  because  she  died  bringing  you  into  the  world ; 
what  she  was  to  me,  what  she  did  for  me,  cursed  with  my 
temperament,  no  one  can  know.  Even  now,  old  man  that 
I  am,  I  cannot,  I  cannot  —  but  you  never  saw  her ;  you 
could  not  know  what  her  loss  was  to  me  — " 

Goeffrey  hesitated  a  moment  for  fear  of  giving  pain. 
"  Do  you  remember  the  night,"  he  said  at  last,  "  when  I 
first  saw  her  portrait,  when  I  came  into  your  room  and 
looked  at  it  for  a  long  time  and  asked  you  if  it  were  my 
mother  and  where  she  had  gone?  That  night  when  I 
was  asleep,  she  came  and  sat  beside  me,  that  night  and 
many  nights  after  for  years." 

His  father  grasped  his  hand  and  Goeffrey  felt  that  it 
trembled. 

"  Does  she  come  now  ?  " 

"  Not  for  many  years,  father,"  answered  Goeffrey. 

"  Ah !  you  have  forgotten  her,"  his  father  said  mourn- 
fully. "  We  all  forget !  She  promised  to  come  to  me 
but  she  never  came.  But  she  did  not  forget,  it  was  I 
who  forgot,  forgot  my  duty  toward  you.  She  was  a 
good,  an  angelic  woman,  Goeffrey,  and  if  you  can  live 
so  as  to  be  worthy  of  her  praise,  you  will  have  done 
well." 

He   remembered  how,   a  week  later,  he  was   at  his 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  IT 

father's  house  again,  having  gone  with  all  speed  from 
Paris,  in  answer  to  a  telegram  saying  that  Mr.  Hunter 
had  had  a  severe  hemorrhage,  only  to  find  that  he  was 
too  late.  He  had  reached  there  very  late  at  night,  and 
toward  morning  he  stole  from  the  house  and  climb- 
ing a  steep  path,  seated  himself  in  a  little  pavilion 
which  surmounted  a  hill  overlooking  the  villa  and  the 
sea. 

He  wanted  to  be  alone  and  think  of  his  loneliness. 
In  the  wandering  life  that  he  had  led  no  lasting  friend- 
ships had  been  formed,  and  now  that  his  father  was 
gone,  he  had  no  one.  Mrs.  Whitely  had  died  some 
years  before,  and  Richard  had  drifted  into  other  oc- 
cupations and  surroundings.  He  felt  as  one  some- 
times feels  after  a  period  of  great  happiness  has  passed, 
that  there  is  nothing  left.  The  future  at  that  moment 
seemed  as  empty  as  did  the  material  world  lying  silent 
under  the  pale  dawn  kindling  slowly  in  the  east,  under 
the  vast  expanse  of  the  sky,  sprinkled  with  stars  al- 
ready fading  from  sight.  And  as  he  turned  toward 
the  mountains,  the  mountains  he  had  always  loved,  ly- 
ing somnolent  in  the  growing  light,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  they  welcomed  this  silence,  longed  for  it  always, 
were  waiting  with  the  prescience  of  immense  age  for 
the  time  when  nature,  which  always  conquers  man, 
shall  have  destroyed  him  utterly,  so  that  they  could 
rest  forever  in  undisturbed  tranquillity. 

Goeffrey,  that  morning,  thought  again  of  all  these 
things.  Of  his  uselessness,  of  his  mother  of  whom  he 
had  not  been  worthy,  of  that  powerful  emotion  of  soli- 


18  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

tude  which  had  possessed  him,  seated  in  the  pavilion 
at  dawn  in  Italy,  which  at  intervals  still  possessed 
him,  and  which  comforted  him  because  of  the  hope  that 
at  last  it  might  draw  him  from  his  idle  life,  to  one  of 
use  to  himself  and  others. 

He  had  been  walking  through  a  side  street  and  at 
last,  for  no  definite  reason,  turned  up  one  of  the  more  re- 
mote avenues,  which,  formerly  an  old  residential  dis- 
trict, was  being  rapidly  invaded  by  business.  Through 
the  swirls  of  dust  raised  by  the  cold  east  wind,  the 
orange  colored  electric  cars  rushed  past  upon  their 
steel  grooves,  with  a  roaring  sound.  Huge  buildings 
reared  their  cornices  aloft  at  intervals,  and  between, 
groups  of  old  houses,  dirty  and  uncared  for,  stood  with 
an  air  of  sadness  and  dejection,  like  old  people  who 
have  lived  beyond  their  allotted  time,  beyond  the  ties 
of  kindred  and  friendship,  beyond  their  own,  into  an 
alien  generation.  And  to  Goeffrey  looking  at  them, 
they  seemed  typical  of  what  his  own  life  would  become, 
and  he  felt  that  he  must  do  something,  take  some  step, 
so  that  it  would  be  less  empty.  He  longed  to  lay  his 
head  upon  the  tender  bosom  of  a  woman  as  he  had  done 
with  his  mother  in  his  dream.  The  thought  which  had 
come  to  him  many  times  of  late  returned.  Yes,  he  must 
marry. 

His  pity  for  his  own  situation  was  so  great,  that 
tears  came  to  his  eyes.  He  drew  a  cigar  from  his 
pocket,  but  the  odor  was  so  distasteful  that  he  dashed 
it  angrily  to  the  ground.  Suddenly  a  vertigo  seized 
him  and  he  clung  to  a  railing,  his  head  whirling.  What 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  19 

was  the  matter?  Could  it  be  that  he  needed  food?  He 
remembered  now  that  the  carouse  of  the  night  before 
had  begun  upon  his  meeting  some  friends  late  in  the 
afternoon  and  in  consequence,  he  had  not  dined  at  all. 

It  had  been  twenty-four  hours  since  he  had  eaten  any- 
thing. Yes,  that  was  it.  He  was  famishing. 

He  looked  at  his  watch,  it  was  twelve  o'clock.  Doris 
Adair  was  to  be  there  at  half  past.  He  had  barely 
time  to  get  back  to  his  rooms. 


CHAPTER  III 

ON  going  one  night,  soon  after  he  had  first  met  Ernesto 
Pandolfi,  into  a  restaurant  which  for  the  moment  was 
the  popular  rendezvous  for  after-theater  suppers,  Goef- 
frey  had  encountered  him  with  a  very  gay  party  which 
he  had  been  asked  to  join. 

Although  he  knew  the  other  women  present  —  all 
actresses  —  he  had  never  seen  until  then,  the  one  who 
happened  to  be  seated  at  his  left.  She  was  a  blonde, 
of  about  middle  height ;  —  the  corsage  of  her  ele- 
gant dress  was  well  filled ;  —  she  had  fine  shoulders  and 
a  beautiful  but  sullen  face.  Sullen  rather  through  some 
habitual  condition  of  mind,  some  preying  thought  per- 
haps, than  from  the  natural  expression  of  her  features 
which  Goeffrey  thought  might  easily  have  been  very, 
sweet. 

Her  quiet  almost  suppressed  manner  was  in  sharp 
contrast  to  the  rather  forced  vivacity  of  the  other 
women,  a  vivacity  which  they  seemed  to  consider  obli- 
gatory, and  when  she  spoke,  her  accent  was  an  English 
one  with  a  slight  additional  trace  of  something  which 
puzzled  him  and  at  the  first  opportunity  he  had  said  to 
her: 

"  Surely,  you  are  not  an  English  woman." 

"  My  mother  was  French,  but  my  name  is  a  very 
English  one  —  Doris  Adair." 

80 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  21 

"  But  you  have  a  slight  foreign  accent  which  I  can't 
place.  I  thought  I  knew  most  of  them." 

She  did  not  care  apparently  to  satisfy  his  curiosity 
and  made  no  response.  She  seemed  in  fact  at  first  to 
be  generally  unresponsive,  although  not  unfriendly, 
but  as  the  evening  wore  on  and  from  time  to  time  they 
fell,  as  the  opportunity  offered,  into  snatches  of  desul- 
tory conversation,  she  revealed  to  him  a  surprisingly 
educated  point  of  view,  and  Goeffrey  became  pleasingly 
conscious  of  the  harmonious  flow  between  them  of  that 
subtle  fluid  called  sympathy. 

As  they  were  getting  up  to  go,  he  had  found  her  so 
attractive,  with  her  air  of  cold  indifference,  her  beauti- 
ful but  sullen  face  and  her  unmistakable  intelligence, 
that  he  said  to  her: 

"  May  I  come  to  see  you  sometime  ?  " 

She  stared  at  him  stonily.  "  You  may  not,"  she  an- 
swered abruptly,  and  turned  her  back  on  him. 

Her  rudeness  covered  him  with  confusion  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  he  remembered  afterwards  that  he  had  seen 
Pandolfi  looking  at  them  with  an  amused  smile,  but 
a  little  later  as  they  were  waiting  for  the  motors  and 
he  found  himself  standing  beside  her,  she  had  said 
hurriedly  to  him: 

"  Forgive  me,  for  being  rude.  I  only  have  a  little 
box  of  a  place  and  never  ask  anyone  there.  Where 
do  you  live  ?  " 

"At  the  Kenworthy,"  Goeffrey  answered. 

She  looked  about  her  quickly  before  speaking  again, 
and  then  still  hurriedly,  she  said: 


2Z  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  come  and  see  you  on  Sunday 
night?  " 

Goeffrey's  pleasure  at  this  proposal  enabled  him  to 
conceal  his  astonishment. 

"  I  should  be  delighted,"  he  answered ;  "  when  may  I 
expect  you?"  But  at  that  moment  Pandolfi  came  up 
to  them,  and  without  answering,  she  got  into  a  motor 
which  had  just  stopped  at  the  curb. 

During  the  days  which  ensued  before  the  arrival  of 
Sunday,  Goeffrey,  an  idler,  thought  often  of  this  ad- 
venture and  speculated  as  to  her  reason  for  making 
the  proposal  she  had.  An  opportunity  offering  itself, 
he  had  asked  about  her,  but  little  was  known  except 
that  it  was  said  that  she  had  been  born  of  a  French 
mother  and  an  English  father,  and  had  lived  most  of 
her  life  in  England.  That  she  was  an  actress  and  was 
playing  minor  parts  at  one  of  the  more  important  thea- 
ters. 

He  went  one  night  to  see  her  and  was  disappointed. 
Her  few  lines  were  spoken  with  an  enunciation  which 
was  a  delight  to  listen  to,  but  he  felt  sure  that  she  had 
not  the  makings  of  an  actress.  She  lacked  the  peculiar 
temperament,  and  while  he  was  disappointed,  he  was 
pleased  too ;  he  could  not  have  told  why.  He  was  sur- 
prised at  the  interest  she  had  aroused  in  him,  and  as 
evidence  of  it,  it  occurred  to  him  when  he  got  home  that 
he  had  intended  that  night  to  go  to  Mrs.  Aladine's, 
because  he  knew  that  Miss  Nina  Davidge  was  to  be 
there.  He  had  forgotten  about  it  completely. 

On  Sunday  night  at  nine,  after  Goeffrey  had  almost 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  23 

given  up  hope,  Waters,  who  had  been  told  that  she  was 
expected,  opened  the  door  of  Goeffrey's  parlor  and  she 
came  in.  He  noticed  the  richness  and  finish  of  her 
clothing,  as  he  was  helping  her  off  with  her  wraps,  but 
he  was  not  especially  observant,  because  he  was  not 
curious,  and  if  he  had  thought  at  all  about  it,  he  would 
probably  have  explained  it  to  himeslf  by  saying  that 
actresses  seemed  to  know  how  to  do  that  sort  of  thing, 
get  the  right  effects,  with  much  less  money  than  other 
women. 

At  first  she  stood  quite  still  looking  at  Goeffrey's 
really  fine  room.  "  How  beautiful,"  she  said,  "  how 
beautiful,"  and  he  was  flattered  to  find  that  she  under- 
stood at  once  that  only  a  very  fastidious  and  discrim- 
inating taste  could  have  brought  his  collection  together. 
His  furniture,  his  porcelains  and  his  silver. 

"  I  haven't  very  much,  compared  with  some  people," 
he  explained,  "  but  what  there  is  of  it,  is  unusually  fine 
I  think." 

Their  conversation  was  quite  impersonal,  but  Goef- 
frey,  happening  to  say  something  which  caused  her 
to  laugh,  he  was  so  pleased  with  the  change  it  made  in 
her  expression,  the  curve  it  gave  to  her  lips  and  the 
glimpse  it  afforded  of  her  perfect  teeth,  that  he  was 
spurred  to  renewed  efforts.  She  did  not  seem,  however, 
to  expect  him  to  make  any  special  conversational  ex- 
ertion for  her,  nor  did  she  talk  very  much  herself; 
there  were  times  when  they  were  silent  together,  but 
that  subtle  bond  of  sympathy  which  had  developed  al- 
most from  the  first  between  them,  made  these  silences 


24.  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

possible,  and  not  only  possible  but  pleasant.  To  Goef- 
frey  it  almost  seemed  as  if  she  had  come  there  to  rest, 
to  get  away  from  something  which  fatigued  and  de- 
pressed her. 

This  meeting  was  the  first  of  many.  She  would 
come  to  see  him  almost  always  in  the  afternoon.  Some- 
times telephoning  to  find  out  whether  he  would  be  in 
or  not,  and  sometimes  in  response  to  notes  which  he 
would  send  to  her  at  the  theater.  She  never  told  him 
where  she  lived. 

A  deep  and  sympathetic  friendship  developed  be- 
tween them,  but  that  it  remained  that,  was  due  to  her. 
Goeffrey  noticed  that  her  intense  repression  of  manner, 
at  times  almost  painful  to  a  man  of  his  temperament, 
began  to  disappear.  She  became  more  responsive. 
When  she  was  with  him,  her  face  lost  its  sullen  expres- 
sion; she  talked  and  laughed  freely  with  a  spontaniety 
which  was  delightful  to  him ;  but  once  or  twice,  when 
under  the  influence  of  her  physical  beauty,  his  manner 
had  taken  on  a  tenderer,  a  less  impersonal  tone,  she  had 
changed  at  once ;  had  shrunk  back  into  her  old  attitude 
of  silence  and  reserve. 

When  GoefFrey  reached  home  after  his  walk,  he  found 
a  small  table  already  laid,  standing  near  the  fireplace 
with  a  large  chair  at  either  side  of  it.  Doris  was  sit- 
ting on  the  arm  of  one  of  them  leaning  slightly  forward 
and  looking  out  of  the  window.  From  the  white  gloved 
hand,  which  hung  limply  over  its  back,  to  her  large, 
black  hat  and  the  tip  of  her  suede  slipper,  above  which 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  25 

a  slender  ankle  encased  in  a  stocking  of  thinnest  silk 
could  be  seen,  she  was  dressed  to  perfection,  with  a 
slight  something  of  daring  which  was  never  absent  from 
her  and  with  which  she  seemed  to  invest  the  most  con- 
ventional forms  of  dress. 

For  one  instant  before  she  jumped  to  her  feet  upon 
hearing  him,  Goeffrey  caught  in  her  attitude,  in  her 
expression,  in  the  droop  of  her  full  white  neck,  a  sense 
of  dejection,  of  languor,  as  if  in  this  moment  of  solitude 
she  had  given  herself  up  to  the  contemplation  of  that 
thought,  of  that  burden  the  consciousness  of  which  was 
never  far  beneath  the  surface  and  which  so  often  de- 
pressed and  wearied  her.  He  had  surprised  her  in 
this  mood  more  than  once,  and  had  always  wondered 
what  it  meant,  but  she  so  evidently  wished  to  conceal 
it,  that  he  had  never  spoken  of  it. 

"  Why,  Goeffrey ! "  she  exclaimed,  looking  at  him 
closely.  "  What  is  the  matter?  You  look  ill,  have  you 
been  drinking  again?" 

"  A  little,"  answered  Goeffrey,  rather  shamefacedly. 

"  Oh,  you  foolish,  foolish  boy.  Was  Ernesto  with 
you?  Goeffrey,  what  is  it?  " 

For  Gocffrey's  vertigo  had  returned  and  he  had 
dropped  into  one  of  the  chairs  looking  quite  white. 
Through  the  faintness  which  overcame  him,  the  result 
mainly  of  exhaustion,  it  seemed  to  him  that  Doris  looked 
at  him  quite  wildly  for  a  moment  and  then  seizing  one 
of  his  hands  kissed  it  passionately.  The  touch  of  those 
soft  lips  thrilled  and  revived  him.  He  tried  to  smile 
reassuringly. 


28  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Yes,"  Goeffrey  answered,  looking  up  in  surprise. 
"  He  is  the  trustee  of  my  property.  Why?" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Davidge  and  Ernesto  are  together  con- 
stantly." 

"  Are  they?     I  didn't  know  that." 

"  Is  there  any  way  that  Ernesto  could  harm  you, 
Goeffrey?  In  money  matters,  I  mean." 

"  I  can't  see  how,  I  only  have  an  income,  what  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  am  worried." 

"  My  dear  little  Doris,"  cried  Goeffrey,  "  don't  worry 
your  head  about  me.  I  won't  see  him  so  much  if  you 
don't  want  me  to,  but  don't  say  that  you  won't  come  here 
any  more,  please  —  and  now,"  he  went  on,  as  Waters 
brought  in  a  tray  containing  a  silver  coffee  service  and 
two  cups  of  thin  porcelain,  "  cigarettes,  Waters,  and 
that  will  be  all." 

And  Doris,  rousing  herself,  began  to  put  on  her 
armor ;  she  was  to  be  alone  with  man,  her  eternal  enemy. 
She  had  been  weak  before  him  and  that  was  dangerous. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  have  been  thinking  of  to-day?  " 
began  Goeffrey.  "  Of  Italy  and  the  mountains.  I  lived 
there  when  I  was  a  boy,  in  the  very  shadow  of  the 
mountains  —  I  loved  them  and  yet  they  always  op- 
pressed me  somehow.  Now  I  long  to  see  them  again  — 
they  always  seemed  to  me  like  immensely  old  giants,  very 
old  and  tired." 

Doris  made  a  gesture  toward  the  window. 

"  They  always  remind  me  of  giants,"  she  replied. 
"  The  buildings,  of  bad  giants.  Their  hundreds  of  win- 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  29 

dows  look  like  expressionless  eyes  through  which  they 
see  everything.  They  quite  frighten  me." 

Goeffrey  leaning  back  luxuriously  in  his  chair,  looked 
at  the  buildings.  From  where  he  sat,  his  apartment 
occupied  the  fourteenth  floor,  he  could  see  the  whole  of 
the  lower  part  of  the  city  —  that  gigantic  agglomera- 
tion of  steel  and  stone  with  which  the  earth  is  burdened. 
They  stretched  on  every  side,  in  every  direction,  story 
piled  on  story,  endless  adaptations  of  old  forms  to  new 
conditions.  A  waste  —  massive,  overpowering,  but  with- 
out relationship,  without  plan.  And  it  seemed  to  him 
that  this  very  lack  of  harmony,  this  absence  of  cohesion, 
gave  their  immense  proportions,  their  towering  cornices, 
devoid  of  charm,  devoid  of  fancy,  an  expression  as 
of  something  hard,  proud,  scornful  and  insolent  —  an 
unconscious  revelation  of  the  ferocious  individualism 
which  had  created  them.  Yes,  in  this  immensity  of  ef- 
fort spread  before  him,  under  the  leaden  sky  —  there 
was  something  hostile  and  forbidding,  but  at  the  same 
time  something  somber,  something  sad. 

"  Do  you  see  what  I  mean,  Goeffrey?  "  Doris  went  on. 
"  In  old  countries,  one  sees  buildings  that  have  person- 
alities which  charm  one,  some  mournful,  some  gay,  some 
poetical,  but  here  they  seem  just  hostile,  like  an  army 
of  hostile  giants,  always  looking  balefully  out  of  their 
thousand  eyes,  not  wishing  to  be  what  they  are  and 
always  thinking  with  resentment,  with  hatred,  of  the 
people  who  have  brought  them  into  being." 

Goeffrey  laughed.  "  What  an  extraordinary  idea ! 
But  my  giants  weren't  like  that,  they  were  just  awfully 


28  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Yes,"  Goeffrey  answered,  looking  up  in  surprise. 
"He  is  the  trustee  of  my  property.  Why?  " 

"  Well,  Mr.  Davidge  and  Ernesto  are  together  con- 
stantly." 

"  Are  they?     I  didn't  know  that." 

"  Is  there  any  way  that  Ernesto  could  harm  you, 
Goeffrey?  In  money  matters,  I  mean." 

"  I  can't  see  how,  I  only  have  an  income,  what  do  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  am  worried." 

"  My  dear  little  Doris,"  cried  Goeffrey,  "  don't  worry 
your  head  about  me.  I  won't  see  him  so  much  if  you 
don't  want  me  to,  but  don't  say  that  you  won't  come  here 
any  more,  please  —  and  now,"  he  went  on,  as  Waters 
brought  in  a  tray  containing  a  silver  coffee  service  and 
two  cups  of  thin  porcelain,  "  cigarettes,  Waters,  and 
that  will  be  all." 

And  Doris,  rousing  herself,  began  to  put  on  her 
armor ;  she  was  to  be  alone  with  man,  her  eternal  enemy. 
She  had  been  weak  before  him  and  that  was  dangerous. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  have  been  thinking  of  to-day?  " 
began  Goeffrey.  "  Of  Italy  and  the  mountains.  I  lived 
there  when  I  was  a  boy,  in  the  very  shadow  of  the 
mountains  —  I  loved  them  and  yet  they  always  op- 
pressed me  somehow.  Now  I  long  to  see  them  again  — 
they  always  seemed  to  me  like  immensely  old  giants,  very 
old  and  tired." 

Doris  made  a  gesture  toward  the  window. 

"  They  always  remind  me  of  giants,"  she  replied. 
"  The  buildings,  of  bad  giants.  Their  hundreds  of  win- 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  29 

dows  look  like  expressionless  eyes  through  which  they 
see  everything.  They  quite  frighten  me." 

Goeffrey  leaning  back  luxuriously  in  his  chair,  looked 
at  the  buildings.  From  where  he  sat,  his  apartment 
occupied  the  fourteenth  floor,  he  could  see  the  whole  of 
the  lower  part  of  the  city  —  that  gigantic  agglomera- 
tion of  steel  and  stone  with  which  the  earth  is  burdened. 
They  stretched  on  every  side,  in  every  direction,  story 
piled  on  story,  endless  adaptations  of  old  forms  to  new 
conditions.  A  waste  —  massive,  overpowering,  but  with- 
out relationship,  without  plan.  And  it  seemed  to  him 
that  this  very  lack  of  harmony,  this  absence  of  cohesion, 
gave  their  immense  proportions,  their  towering  cornices, 
devoid  of  charm,  devoid  of  fancy,  an  expression  as 
of  something  hard,  proud,  scornful  and  insolent  —  an 
unconscious  revelation  of  the  ferocious  individualism 
which  had  created  them.  Yes,  in  this  immensity  of  ef- 
fort spread  before  him,  under  the  leaden  sky  —  there 
was  something  hostile  and  forbidding,  but  at  the  same 
time  something  somber,  something  sad. 

"  Do  you  see  what  I  mean,  Goeffrey?  "  Doris  went  on. 
"  In  old  countries,  one  sees  buildings  that  have  person- 
alities which  charm  one,  some  mournful,  some  gay,  some 
poetical,  but  here  they  seem  just  hostile,  like  an  army 
of  hostile  giants,  always  looking  balefully  out  of  their 
thousand  eyes,  not  wishing  to  be  what  they  are  and 
always  thinking  with  resentment,  with  hatred,  of  the 
people  who  have  brought  them  into  being." 

Goeffrey  laughed.  "  What  an  extraordinary  idea ! 
But  my  giants  weren't  like  that,  they  were  just  awfully 


30  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

old  —  and  tired.     Have  you  ever  been  to  Italy,  Doris?  " 

"  No,  but  I  have  been  to  France  —  and  oh !  Goeffrey, 
I  do  love  it.  Each  time,  when  I  first  see  the  little 
French  houses  and  the  little  French  soldiers,  I  cry,  I 
love  it  so." 

"  And  I  love  Italy  —  and  when  I  finish  practicing  my 
profession,  I  am  going  back." 

"  Practicing  your  profession !  "  Doris  looked  at  him 
with  open  eyes  and  then  broke  into  a  clear  ringing 
laugh.  "  Practicing  your  profession,  why,  Goeffrey, 
what  profession  have  you?" 

"  I'm  an  architect,  didn't  you  know  ?  "  Goeffrey  an- 
swered with  a  serious  air.  "  I  promised  my  father  that 
when  he  died,  I  would  come  over  here  and  go  into  busi- 
ness for  three  years  at  least." 

Doris  leaned  toward  him.  "  Forgive  me,  Goeffrey,  I 
didn't  know.  And  did  you  practice  it?  " 

"  I  tried,"  answered  Goeffrey,  "  but  I  didn't  get  any 
commissions." 

"And  why  not?" 

"  I  don't  know,  because  it  wasn't  necessary  perhaps, — ' 
I  suppose  if  one  lias  to  get  commissions,  one  gets  them, 
but  I  didn't  have  to  and  so,  I  shall  go  back  soon.  I 
don't  like  it  here  and  I  don't  believe  that  I  shall 
ever  come  over  again.  But  I  don't  want  to  go  alone  " — 
he  reached  across  the  table  and  took  her  hand,  Doris 
letting  it  lie  passively  and  sitting  with  averted  face, 
her  long  lashes  resting  on  her  cheeks  —  he  drew  it 
toward  him  and  kissed  it  as  she  had  done  his. 

"Why  did  you  do  that,  Doris?" 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  31 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Doris,  will  you  come  with  me  as  my  little  companion 
to  France,  to  Italy,  care  free,  wherever  we  like?  " 

Still  she  did  not  answer  and  Goeffrey,  kissing  her 
hand  again,  repeated: 

"  Why  did  you  do  it,  Doris?  " 

"Do  what,  Goeffrey?  "  she  answered  almost  inau- 
dibly. 

"  You  know,  why  did  you?  " 

Doris  drew  a  breath  that  was  almost  a  sob. 

"  I  didn't !  "  she  exclaimed,  snatching  her  hand  away 
and  turning  quickly  toward  him,  "  and  if  I  did,  it  was  be- 
cause I  was  frightened,  and  —  oh,  Goeffrey,  just  let's 
be  friends,  I  have  been  so  happy  in  our  friendship,  don't 
try  to  change  it." 

"  But  isn't  love  better?  "  he  asked. 

"  Love,"  she  repeated  scornfully,  "  it's  worse,*a  thou- 
sand times  worse.  I  hate  the  very  sound  of  the  word  and 
I  hate  you  when  you  talk  of  it.  You  are  like  all  the 
rest  then  — " 

"  Like  all  the  rest.  Oh,  Doris,  how  can  you  say 
so." 

"  Very  well,  suppose  I  go  with  you,  what  then  ?  " 

"  What  then?  We  are  so  companionable,  would  there 
ever  have  been  such  a  pilgrimage  as  we  would  make 
together.  Stopping  where  we  like.  Idling  through 
Europe  —  which  we  both  love." 

"And  what  then?" 

"  Who  would  give  a  thought  to  the  future,  living 
like  that?" 


32  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Sometime  we  would  think  of  the  future,  and  what 
then?  " 

Goeffrey  did  not  answer. 

"What  then,  Goeffrey?  You  don't  answer  because 
you  can't.  And  you  say  that  you  are  not  like  the  rest 
and  I  thought  that  you  were  my  friend.  Oh,  Goeffrey," 
she  went  on,  "  you  don't  know  what  you  have  done,  how 
you  have  hurt  me,  destroyed  something  in  me,  by  say- 
ing what  you  have." 

Suddenly  the  telephone  bell,  which  was  close  to  Doris, 
began  its  long  insistent  ring,  causing  her  to  start,  and 
Goeffrey,  glad  of  the  interruption,  sprang  to  answer  it. 

"  Is  Mr.  Hunter  there?  "  a  voice  called.  "  Is  this  Mr. 
Hunter?  Your  cousin,  Mr.  Richard  Whitely,  is  down- 
stairs and  wishes  to  know  if  he  may  come  up,  sir." 

"  Of  course,  send  him  up  at  once,"  answered  Goeffrey, 
replacing  the  receiver.  "  Was  there  ever  such  luck," 
he  exclaimed.  "  My  cousin  is  here  from  Europe.  I 
haven't  seen  him  for  years.  That  means  that  we  can't 
go,  Doris.  I'm  so  sorry.  But  take  the  tickets,  you 
can  go  at  least." 

"  No,  thanks,"  Doris  answered  shortly,  getting  up  and 
beginning  to  gather  together  a  woman's  impedimenta. 

"Please,  Doris,  are  you  angry?" 

"  I  shan't,"  she  cried,  stamping  her  foot.  "  I  have 
never  taken  anything  from  you,  and  I  never  shall. 
Good-by,  Goeffrey."  She  held  out  her  hand  with 
averted  face  and  turning,  went  through  a  small  study 
at  the  right  of  the  sitting-room,  by  which  access 
could  be  had  to  a  flight  of  narrow  stairs.  She  had  done 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  33 

this  more  than  once  when  they  had  been  interrupted. 
By  descending  a  flight,  she  could  return  to  the  main 
corridor  and  take  the  elevator  down. 

"I'm  so  sorry,  Doris.     Will  you  never  come  again?  " 

"  Never,  Goeffrey.  I  intended  not  to  come  again  any- 
way. I  should  never  have  come  in  the  first  place  = — " 

"  But  I  swear,  Doris,  I  swear." 

"  It's  no  use,  Goeffrey,  I  shan't  come." 

"  But,  Doris,  I  am  your  friend ;  it  has  been  good  to 
have  you  here.  And  you  will  come  again  if  others  are 
here,  won't  you  ?  You'll  come  to  my  party  ?  " 

Doris  hesitated.  "  Yes,  I  will  come  because  I  prom- 
ised you  to.  Good-by." 

"Doris!" 

"  Good-by,"  she  repeated. 

"  Good-by,  Doris ;  I'm  sorry." 

He  watched  her  as  she  went  down  the  stairs  and 
caught  again  that  sense  of  depression,  of  fatigue,  as 
of  a  person  carrying  a  burden  hard  to  bear,  and  he 
flushed  with  shame  as  he  realized  how  brutally  he  had 
destroyed  in  one  moment,  shriveled  up,  that  candid 
and  sincere  friendship  which  had  grown  up  between 
them.  He  knew  that  her  obvious  honesty  and  self  re- 
spect should  have  prevented  any  possible  misconstruc- 
tion on  his  part,  but  he  had  promptly  attempted  to 
take  advantage  of  an  act  on  hers,  which  (whatever  it 
meant)  was  quite  as  spontaneous,  quite  as  honest  as 
her  whole  conduct  had  been  toward  him  from  the  be- 
ginning. 

"  Yes,"  he  thought.  "  I  have  acted  like  a  cad  —  what 


34  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

must  she  think  of  me?  Poor  Doris,  I  must  put  myself 
straight  with  her  if  I  can.  If  she'll  let  me." 

He  had  stopped  in  his  study,  forgetting  Richard 
for  the  moment,  but  the  sound  of  voices,  one  of  which 
he  recognized  as  Waters',  roused  him  and  pushing  open 
the  sitting-room  door  quickly,  he  almost  collided  with 
a  very  handsome  young  man  —  very  tall,  very  blond 
and  very  elegantly  dressed  in  rather  foreign  looking 
clothes  —  who  was  evidently  just  coming  toward  the 
door  to  open  it  himself. 

He  had  not  seen  his  cousin  for  seven  years. 

When  Richard  had  first  entered  school  in  England, 
his  foreign  accent  and  his  linguistic  ability,  coupled  to 
a  surprisingly  English  appearance,  had  caused  him  at 
first  to  be  looked  upon  with  distrust  by  his  school  fel- 
lows, as  some  strange  kind  of  foreigner,  but  had  he  per- 
severed, and  being  possessed  of  a  genial  disposition  and 
a  proper  appreciation  of  the  importance  of  making  the 
right  sort  of  friends,  he  had  finally  achieved  popularity. 
Indeed  he  had  made  such  progress,  that  upon  Goef- 
frey's  only  visit  to  him  in  England,  he  had  felt  some 
misgiving  as  to  his  turning  out  to  be  quite  good  form, 
and  was  much  relieved  one  day  when  the  Hon.  Dysart 
Stanley,  aged  fourteen,  said  to  him,  "  I  say,  Whitely, 
what  an  awfully  good  sort  your  cousin  is !  " 

Five  years  later,  after  his  mother's  death,  Richard 
had  in  turn  visited  Goeffrey,  and  it  was  during  this 
visit  that  the  latter  chose  his  profession.  A  pedestrian 
tour  of  the  Italian  lakes  had  been  decided  upon  after 
Richard  had  been  there  for  a  fortnight,  and  it  was  at 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  85 

Bellaggio,  where  they  sat  one  evening  after  dinner,  on 
the  terrace  of  a  small  hotel,  that  they  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  famous  Milanese  architect  who  had 
come  to  Como  to  inspect  a  villa  which  he  was  erecting 
on  the  shore  of  the  lake.  For  a  week  they  were  in- 
separable companions  and  before  they  parted,  it  had 
been  arranged  that  Goeffrey  should  place  himself  under 
Faccini's  instruction  in  the  fall.  Richard  had  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  doing  the  same,  but  soon  after 
Goeffrey  had  settled  himself  in  Milan,  he  received  a  let- 
ter from  his  cousin,  written  at  Vienna,  saying  that  his 
only  passion  was  music,  that  as  Goeffrey  knew,  he  was 
already  a  capable  pianist,  and  that  he  had  gone  to 
Vienna  to  place  himself  under  a  celebrated  master,  who 
had  been  kind  enough  to  praise  his  ability  highly. 

Richard  had  written  Goeffrey  after  his  father's 
death,  but  he  had  not  come  to  Italy,  and  he  had  seen 
him  only  once  since,  seven  years  before  in  Paris,  where 
Goeffrey  had  gone  to  continue  his  studies. 

"  My  dear,  dear  Dick,"  cried  Goeffrey,  seizing  him 
with  both  hands,  "  how  good  it  seems  to  see  you ;  you 
bring  a  whiff  of  Europe  with  you.  Whatever  made 
you  think  of  coming  over  here?  Where  are  you  stop- 
ping?" 

"  I  only  got  in  this  morning,"  Richard  answered. 
"  I  had  my  luggage  sent  to  the  Waldorf." 

He  spoke  with  the  well  modulated  enunciation,  soft 
and  yet  rapid,  of  the  educated  young  Englishman, 
yet  with  a  slight  accent. 

"  But  that  won't  do  at  all,  you  must  come  here," 


36  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

answered  Goeffrey.  "  I  have  an  extra  bedroom. 
Waters !  go  to  the  Waldorf  and  arrange  to  have  Mr. 
Whitely's  luggage  sent  here  directly  it  arrives." 

"  It  is  awfully  good  of  you,  Goeffrey,  but  really  — " 

"  Not  at  all.    I  insist." 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you  all  the  same,  Goeffrey,  and 
thanks,  very  much.  So  this  is  your  *  pied  a  terre,'  is  it? 
Very  comfortable  I  should  say  —  but  good  God !  you  are 
in  the  clouds,"  Richard  exclaimed,  going  to  a  window. 
"  Aren't  you  afraid  to  live  at  such  a  height?  " 

Goeffrey  laughed.  "  I  am  on  the  top  floor  you  see, 
and  I  took  it  on  condition  that  I  could  build  real  chim- 
neys in  each  room  and  have  real  fireplaces.  They  are 
almost  unknown  here  now." 

But  as  they  talked  of  old  days  together,  of  other 
times  and  other  places,  of  boyish  adventures  in  many 
countries,  of  old  acquaintances,  each  stimulating  the 
other  in  the  resurrection  of  half  forgotten  memories, 
Goeffrey  became  aware  of  a  nervousness  of  manner  in 
his  cousin  which  he  was  sure  was  not  natural.  He  was 
continually  getting  up,  walking  restlessly  to  and  fro, 
sitting  down  and  getting  up  again.  While  at  times 
he  talked  with  a  spontaneous  flow  of  gayety  and  light 
heartedness  which  Goeffrey  remembered  to  have  been 
one  of  the  most  charming  traits  of  a  character  which 
could  be  very  charming  when  it  chose,  at  others  he 
seemed  to  be  struggling  against  a  preoccupation  which 
he  had  difficulty  in  overcoming.  As  if  his  mind,  against 
his  will,  was  returning  constantly  to  things  he  wished, 
for  the  moment  at  least,  to  forget,  to  conceal.  At  the 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  37 

same  time  he  watched  Goeffrey  as  if  taking  his  meas- 
ure. "  Poor  chap,"  thought  Goeffrey,  "  he  has  some- 
thing on  his  mind  and  he  is  trying  to  decide  whether 
he  shall  tell  me  or  not,"  and  he  half  smiled  to  himself, 
it  seemed  so  like  the  Richard  he  had  known  of  old. 

Suddenly  he  said  abruptly,  "  Dick,  something's  the 
matter,  what  is  it?  " 

Richard  turned  quickly  toward  him  with  a  frightened 
half  smile  on  his  face,  which  vanished  at  once.  His 
lip  quivered,  he  dropped  into  a  chair,  tears  came  to  his 
eyes  and  he  seemed  to  be  struggling  with  some  emotion 
which  prevented  him  from  speaking.  At  last,  with 
an  effort  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  he  controlled  with 
difficulty  : 

"I  —  I've  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  Goeffrey." 

"  In  what  way,  Dick,  tell  me." 

"  It's  about  money,"  Dick  answered.  He  avoided 
looking  at  Goeffrey  and  with  his  hands  moving  rest- 
lessly on  the  arms  of  his  chair,  he  stared  fixedly  at  the 
cornice  of  the  opposite  wall  as  if  by  holding  his  head 
at  that  angle  he  would  prevent  the  tears,  which 
were  brimming  in  his  eyes,  from  inundating  his 
cheeks. 

"  But  I  don't  understand,"  Goeffrey  answered. 
"  Have  you  lost  money?  " 

"  Yes." 

Dick  snatched  his  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and 
pressed  it  quickly  to  his  eyes. 

"How   much?"   asked   Goeffrey. 

"  I'm  afraid  to  tell  you." 


38  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  But  you  will  tell  me  sooner  or  later,  how  much  have 
you  lost  ?  " 

"  All  of  it." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  lost  all  of  your 
money?  " 

"  Every  penny  of  it,  Goeffrey ;  I'm  a  pauper." 

"  But  what  the  —  what  on  earth  have  you  done  with 
it —  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  lost  it  all?  " 

"  I've  told  you  already  that  I  have  lost  it." 

"  But  your  shares,  your  property,  are  they  gone 
too?" 

"  All  of  it,  I  tell  you,"  Richard  almost  shouted  in 
desperation,  "  every  penny." 

"But  how,  how?" 

"  Well,  I  spent  it  then  —  I  think  I'd  better  go,  Goef- 
frey. I  hadn't  anyone  but  you  to  come  to  and  I  thought 
I  might  get  a  little  advice,  a  little  sympathy — " 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,"  exclaimed  Goeffrey,  jumping  up, 
"  you've  got  to  tell  me  about  it  and  see  what  can  be 
done."  He  almost  pushed  his  cousin  back  in  his  chair, 
and  as  he  sat  down  again  Richard  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands,  and  then  all  at  once,  snatching  a  letter  from 
his  pocket,  he  held  it  out,  saying :  "  Here,  read  this, 
you  might  as  well  know  the  whole  story  at  once." 

Goeffrey  drew  it  from  its  envelope  and  read : 

"  '  MY  DEAR  WHITELY:  Dysart  has  just  had  a  letter 
from  Lady  Stanley  in  which  she  has  asked  him  to  send 
you  away.  From  what  Stanley  tells  me,  your  well 
known  success  with  women  has  encouraged  you  to  lay 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  39 

siege  to  her.  Dysart  is  in  a  furious  rage  and  would  start 
for  Venice  at  once,  were  it  not  that  the  business  which 
keeps  him  here  will  prevent  his  leaving  for  two  days 
at  least.  I  am  not  writing  for  your  sake  at  all,  because 
if  you  are  such  a  cad  as  to  make  love  to  Dysart's  wife, 
when  you  are  living  on  his  bounty,  you  deserve  all  that 
he  would  give  you ;  but  you  know  him  and  what  you 
may  expect  if  he  catches  you.  I  am  only  warning  you 
to  avoid  a  scandal,  or  perhaps  something  worse,  for 
Dysart's  sake  and  Lady  Stanley's.  So  get  away  at 
once.  Go  to  America  —  Dysart  will  make  it  too  hot  for 
you  here,  and  try  to  earn  a  decent  living.  The  occupa- 
tion of  parasite  isn't  one  that  most  people  admire  and  if 
I  had  been  Dysart,  I  would  have  gotten  rid  of  you  long 
ago.  SEEBOLD.'  " 

"That's  a  brutal  letter;  is  it  true?"  said  Goeffrey, 
looking  up  to  see  that  his  cousin  had  flushed  darkly 
during  the  reading  of  it. 

"  It  isn't  true,"  Richard  answered  excitedly,  "  I'll 
swear  it.  I've  had  affairs,  I'll  admit,  but  I  never  said  or 
did  one  thing  that  Lady  Stanley  could  have  taken  ex- 
ception to.  You  remember  Stanley?  Well,  I  met  him 
quite  by  accident  a  year  ago  in  Paris.  I  was  down  then 
to  my  last  hundred  francs,  and  was  on  my  way  to  cable 
to  you  to  send  me  enough  to  get  over  here,  when  whom 
should  I  meet  but  Stanley,  just  as  I  was  going  into  the 
telegraph  office.  He  wanted  to  know  what  I  was  doing 
and  finally  I  told  him.  It  happened  that  he  had  re- 
ceived an  appointment  as  charge  at  the  English  embassy 


40  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

at  Rome  and  he  took  me  along  as  his  personal  secretary ; 
he  is  very  rich,  and  wanted  someone  to  look  after  his 
private  affairs.  Well,  everything  went  on  all  right  until 
Lady  Stanley  came.  That  woman  is  a  devil.  It  may 
seem  a  rotten  thing  to  say,  but  she  made  a  dead  set  for 
me  almost  from  the  beginning,  but  things  didn't  come 
to  a  crisis  until  Dysart  got  a  month's  leave  and  we  all 
went  to  Venice.  We  hadn't  been  there  a  fortnight, 
when  Dysart  was  sent  for  and  had  to  go  back  to  Rome. 
The  day  he  went,  I  had  a  scene  with  her  which  made  her 
furious  and  her  letter  to  Dysart  was  the  result.  When 
I  heard  from  Seebold,  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  Be- 
tween my  word  and  Lady  Stanley's,  Dysart  would 
surely  take  hers  and  I  decided  to  go  at  once. 

"Do  you  know  how  I  came  over?"  he  continued. 
"  From  Genoa  in  the  second  cabin  and  I  had  to  sell  my 
watch  to  do  that,  think  of  it?  I  stayed  in  the  stinking 
hole,  day  after  day,  because  I  was  afraid  someone  I 
knew  might  be  on  board.  I  only  went  out  at  night. 

"  Well,"  he  went  on  after  a  pause,  "  that  is  the  im- 
mediate reason  for  coming  here  and  as  for  my  money, 
it  is  gone,  that's  all,  every  sou  of  it  frittered  away. 
Mamma  left  it  to  me  without  restrictions  of  any  kind, 
and  it  was  not  very  long  before  my  income  seemed  too 
small  and  I  began  to  spend  the  principal.  When  that 
got  low,  I  took  to  gambling  of  course,  and  any  fool 
knows  what  that  means,  except  the  one  who  is  doing  it. 
Think  of  it,  Goeffrey,"  —  he  got  up  and  paced  quickly 
up  and  down.  "  A  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
pounds  thrown  away  and  not  one  thing  to  show  for  it." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  41 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  how  are  you  going  to 
live  ?  "  Goeffrey  asked  coldly. 

"  I  don't  know,  Goeffrey,"  Richard  answered  pite- 
ously.  "  I  don't  know  how  to  do  anything ;  I  know  noth- 
ing about  business.  Sometimes  I  think  I  had  better 
make  way  with  myself." 

"  That's  a  coward's  remedy,'*  Goeffrey  answered. 
"  Be  a  man,  at  least ;  you've  got  to  take  your  medicine. 
It  is  terribly  hard,  of  course,  and  you  have  been  incon- 
ceivably foolish.  Think  of  a  man  with  an  income  large 
enough  to  satisfy  every  moderate  wish,  squandering 
not  only  the  income,  but  every  penny  of  the  principal. 
What  is  at  the  bottom  of  it,  Dick?  Are  you  vicious? 
Was  it  women  ?  Was  it  drink  ?  " 

Listening  to  Richard's  misdeeds,  Goeffrey  had  for- 
gotten his  own  shortcomings.  His  sensations  might 
have  been  those  of  a  righteous  judge,  listening  to  the  ex- 
cuses of  a  criminal. 

"  No,  it  wasn't,"  answered  Richard  shortly,  "  but  I 
am  going  to  drink  now.  I  can't  stand  this  sort  of 
thing,"  and  he  filled  two  glasses  with  whiskey  and 
water,  which  stood  on  the  table,  handing  one  to  Goef- 
frey. 

The  latter  took  it  but  had  barely  put  it  to  his  lips, 
when  he  shuddered  violently,  made  a  wry  face  and 
hastily  put  it  down  again.  He  looked  at  his  cousin 
and  saw  that  he  was  standing  with  his  glass  half 
raised,  a  dawning  light  of  comprehension  in  his  eyes, 
and  at  that  moment  Richard  stooped  and  reaching  un- 
der the  table,  lifted  to  view  a  tiny  handkerchief.  Goef- 


42  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

frey  flushed,  and  with  an  embarrassed  smile  held  out  his 
hand. 

"  Look  here,  Richard,  circumstances  seem  to  convict 
me  of  being  a  hypocrite.  That's  all  I  can  say,  but  at 
any  rate  I've  no  right  to  be  so  hard  on  you.  Forgive 
me,  will  you  ?  " 

Richard  laughed  light  heartedly.  "  Of  course,  my 
boy,  with  all  my  heart.  I  understand." 

"  And  suppose,"  continued  Goeffrey,  "  we  drop  the 
subject  of  your  troubles  for  awhile,  we  will  get  you  out 
of  them  somehow.  Have  you  anything  to  do?  " 

"  Not  a  thing  in  the  world." 

"  Very  well,  I  have  seats  for  Sembrich  this  afternoon, 
in  the  '  Barber,'  that  may  help  us  to  forget  them.  Shall 
we  go  ?  " 

"  By  all  means.     That's  what  I  need,  Goeffrey,  music." 


CHAPTER  rv; 

"  You  see,"  said  Richard,  reverting  to  his  troubles  as 
he  settled  himself  on  the  cushions  of  Goeffrey's  sumptu- 
ous limousine,  "  this  is  what  I  have  thrown  away.  This 
sort  of  thing.  To  have  ruined  myself  was  a  crime,  Goef- 
frey ;  I  cannot  live  without  the  luxuries  of  life.  They 
are  as  necessary  to  me,  as  his  daily  pittance  is  to  thai, 
poor  devil  of  a  laborer  we  passed  just  then.  We  are  so 
specialized,  people  like  you  and  me,  that  we  cannot  exist 
without  our  environment,  and  just  as  it  would  be  a  crime 
for  me  to  kill  myself  by  depriving  myself  of  air  or  by 
going  without  food,  so  it  has  been  criminal  in  me  to 
throw  away  that  which  makes  life  possible  for  me.  Life 
can  go  on  for  certain  periods,  under  unfavorable  condi- 
tions, and  I  have  of  course  no  real  intention  at  present 
at  least,  of  making  way  with  myself,  but  let  me  tell  you 
this  —  I  must  have  money  —  a  great  deal  of  it  —  I 
must,  I  tell  you,  or  good-by  to  Richard  Whitely." 

The  curtain  had  just  gone  down  on  the  first  act  as 
they  took  their  seats,  and  the  great  auditorium  was  full 
of  that  mysterious  rustling  caused  by  the  innumerable 
slight  automatic  movements  of  the  audience,  after  being 
released  from  the  spell  of  the  music.  A  patter  of  hand 
clapping  sounding  like  a  heavy  rain  arose,  and  a  row 
of  singers  bowing  low,  marched  hand  in  hand  across  the 

43 


44  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

stage,  looking  very  small  beneath  the  height  of  the 
enormous  proscenium. 

"  A  huge  house,"  Richard  said,  looting  about  him, 
"  much  larger  than  Covent  Garden.  I  like  the  dull  red 
and  the  dull  gold.  The  only  background  for  a  pretty 
woman.  The  effect  is  good.  Very  opulent,  very  rich." 

"And  why  not?"  answered  Goeffrey.  "Opera,  the 
most  luxurious  spectacle  of  modern  life,  requires  a  set- 
ting like  this." 

His  cousin,  who  had  transferred  his  scrutiny  to  the 
boxes,  suddenly  called  Goeffrey's  attention  to  one  in  the 
first  tier,  in  which  a  woman,  dressed  in  black  velvet  and 
wearing  a  large  black  hat,  was  sitting  alone.  Although 
she  was  so  far  away  that  her  features  could  not  be  seen 
with  clearness,  one  could  tell  somehow  that  she  was  beau- 
tiful. She  was  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  her  head  bent 
slightly.  A  hand  in  a  white  glove  rested  on  the  velvet 
railing  of  the  box  front  and  played  idly  with  one  of 
those  feminine  toys  which  are  half  opera  glass,  half 
lorgnette. 

"  Do  you  know  her?  "  Richard  asked. 

"  Yes,  it  is  Mrs.  Martel." 

"  I  thought  so,  would  you  mind  if  I  should  go  and 
speak  to  her  ?  " 

"Of  course  not.  Do  you  know  her?"  asked  Goef- 
frey. 

"  Quite  well,  in  Paris,"  Richard  answered,  and  was 
gone. 

Goeffrey  watched  him  until  he  disappeared  and  again 
when  he  came  into  Mrs.  Martel's  box,  and  he  was  struck 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  45 

anew  by  his  cousin's  extreme  good  looks,  and  by  his 
extraordinary  air  of  elegance  and  distinction.  He  no- 
ticed that  many  people  were  looking  at  him.  Yes,  as- 
suredly, he  was  highly  specialized,  one  could  tell  in- 
stinctively that  he  belonged  to  that  class  who  live  on  a 
special  plane,  breathe  a  special  air,  who  are  the  favorites 
of  fortune  and  who  are  so  freely  endowed  with  a  material 
heritage  of  all  that  should  make  life  desirable,  that  what 
to  the  average  would  seem  like  unattainable  privi- 
lege they  accept  as  a  matter  of  course,  cannot  live  with- 
out. Yes,  money  was  necessary  to  a  man  like  Richard. 
It  was  inconceivable  that  he  should  be  without  it.  And 
now  he  had  nothing.  He  was  penniless.  To  Goeffrey, 
who  knew  quite  well  the  advantages  of  money,  there  was 
something  terrible  about  Richard's  situation,  the  more 
so  as  he  felt  instinctively  that  he  was  helpless  —  was 
quite  unfitted,  not  only  by  the  life  that  he  led,  but  by 
his  education,  his  temperament,  for  the  task  of  making 
it.  But  what  was  to  be  done?  He  knew  before  he 
asked  himself  this  question,  the  answer  to  it.  He  must 
change  his  own  manner  of  life  sufficiently  so  that  he 
could  share  his  income  with  his  cousin.  He  accepted 
this  solution  of  the  matter  quite  naturally  —  without 
hesitation.  He  did  not  stop  to  think  that  Richard  had 
no  real  claim  on  him,  was  a  stranger  almost.  It  was 
enough  that  he  had  money,  more  than  he  really  needed, 
and  that  Richard  had  none. 

An  usher  approached  him  and  handed  him  a  card  on 
which  Miss  Davidge's  name  was  engraved.  A  few  lines 
were  written  on  it  in  pencil: 


46  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"Aunt  Mary,  the  children  and  I  are  in  Constance's 
box.  Please  come  up. —  NINA." 

He  got  up  eagerly.  Nina  here!  What  a  lucky 
chance.  How  good  it  would  be  to  see  her  after  his 
rather  trying  experiences  of  the  morning. 

"And  who,"  inquired  Aunt  Mary,  as  Goeffrey  sat 
down,  "  is  that  fine  looking  young  man  you  came  in  with 
just  now?  " 

She  was  a  tall,  gaunt  woman  on  whose  bony  features 
there  rested  an  odd  expression  of  fatuity  and  indecision, 
contrasting  curiously  with  her  strong  masculine  voice. 
Her  ruling  passion  was  pride  of  family,  which  is  fre- 
quently found  developed  to  an  extraordinary  degree 
among  New  Yorkers  who  have  kept  their  money  for  two 
generations. 

"  My  cousin,  Richard  Whitely,"  Goeffrey  answered. 
"  He  has  been  abroad  for  years." 

"  I  knew  it  was  Richard,"  Nina  said,  "  the  instant  I 
saw  him." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  Waverly  Place  Whitely's?  "  Aunt 
Mary  asked  with  a  considerable  show  of  interest. 
"  Then  his  father  must  have  been  — " 

"  You  must  remember  him,  Auntie,"  Nina  interposed, 
in  an  effort  to  prevent  one  of  those  complicated  dis- 
sertations on  relationships,  which  Aunt  Mary  was  so 
fond  of  giving. 

"  Don't  interrupt,  Nina,  please ;  his  father  was  my 
mother's  sister's  brother-in-law  " —  Aunt  Mary  resumed. 
"  By  that  I  mean  that  his  brother,  who  by  the  way  was 
much  older  than  your  cousin's  father,  married  my 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  47 

mother's  sister  who  was  also  much  younger  than  my 
mother.  This  explains  the  difference  in  our  ages,  that 
is  between  your  cousin's  and  mine,  because  you  see  I 
am  no  longer  as  young  as  I  used  to  be,  although  I 
don't  suppose  he  is  either  for  that  matter,"  and  Aunt 
Mary  leaned  back  comfortably  in  her  chair. 

"  By  the  way,"  she  continued,  "  why  didn't  you  bring 
him  up?  " 

"  He  went  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Martel,"  Goeffrey  ex- 
plained. 

"  A  woman  who  owes  her  position  entirely  to  her  hus- 
band," Aunt  Mary  remarked  scornfully,  "  the  daughter 
of  an  obscure  west  side  doctor,  I'm  told.  Now  the 
Martels  are  one  of  our  oldest  families  and  /  have  always 
maintained  that  they  are  descended  from  the  great 
Charles  Martel,  king  of  France  —  Martel  means  ham- 
mer — " 

Nina,  who  had  been  scrutinizing  Mrs.  Martel's 
box  through  her  opera  glass,  handed  it  to  Goef- 
frey: 

"  Did  you  ever  see  two  people  more  beautiful  than 
they  are?  "  she  asked. 

Goeffrey  adjusted  the  glass  and  looked  at  them. 
His  cousin,  who  was  seated  facing  the  front  of  the 
box,  was  talking  earnestly  to  Mrs.  Martel,  whose 
position  had  hardly  changed  since  they  had  looked  at 
her  from  their  seats.  Her  profile  was  turned  toward 
him  and  he  could  see  plainly  her  delicate  clear  cut 
features,  her  slightly  reddish  fair  hair  and  her  dark  eyes 
under  the  shadow  cast  by  the  plumes  of  her  hat.  Al- 


48  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

though  he  had  noticed  that  her  reception  of  his  cousin 
had  been  carefully  indifferent,  it  seemed  to  Goeffrey 
that  there  was  an  unmistakable  air  of  intimacy  in  their 
attitude,  and  he  thought,  or  was  he  mistaken,  that  he 
saw  Richard,  with  a  quick  movement,  take  her  hand 
which  was  nearest  to  him,  and  hold  it  for  a  moment 
before  letting  it  drop  again.  Yes,  he  was  sure  that  he 
was  not  deceived,  and  thinking  of  the  letter  he  had 
shown  him,  and  which  he  had  instinctively  accepted  as 
being  true,  in  spite  of  Richard's  protestations,  a  feel- 
ing of  resentment,  of  disgust,  rose  in  him.  Was  his 
cousin  one  of  that  sort?  Was  he  one  of  those  men 
who  are  always  playing  that  kind  of  game? 

"  Do  you  think  that  you  can  find  people  beautiful, 
if  you  don't  like  them?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  How  silly,  of  course  you  can.  You  surely  like 
Richard?" 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"  And  not  Mrs.  Martel?  " 

"  Perhaps,  I  can't  tell,  I  know  her  so  little." 

But  there  was  something  in  that  air  of  guarded  in- 
timacy, in  that  surreptitious  clasping  of  hands  which 
made  it  distasteful  to  him  to  discuss  them  with  her, 
and  turning  to  Madeline,  Nina's  sister,  a  small  pale  girl 
of  ten,  and  Humphrey,  a  little  boy  of  seven,  who,  in 
a  large  white  collar,  was  sitting  with  dangling  legs, 
looking  about  him  seriously,  he  asked : 

"  And  how  do  you  like  the  Opera?  " 

"  Madeline  has  been  here  before,"  answered  Nina, 
'*  but  it  is  a  new  experience  for  Humphrey." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  49 

"  I  like  it  much  better  than  Punch  and  Judy,"  said 
the  latter. 

"  You  see,"  Madeline  explained,  "  whenever  we  go 
to  a  party  they  always  have  Punch  and  Judy  or  else 
a  conjurer,  and  Humphrey  is  very  tired  of  both.  But 
I  have  seen  '  Carmen '  by  Bizet,  '  Rigoletto '  by  Verdi, 
and  '  Faust '  by  Gounod."  She  pronounced  the  names 
very  precisely,  as  if  she  were  reciting  a  lesson. 
"  Humphrey  hasn't  seen  any  of  them." 

"  When  I  get  bigger,  I  shall,"  Humphrey  answered, 
looking  at  Madeline  as  if  it  were  rather  low  of  her  to 
call  attention  to  his  lack  of  experience. 

"  Do  you  know,"  Nina  said,  "  seeing  Richard  has 
brought  Paris  back  so  vividly  —  I  mean  when  we  were 
children  there." 

"  It  did  to  me  too,"  said  Goeffrey. 

"Have  I  ever  been  in  Paris,  Nina?"  Humphrey 
asked. 

"  No,  my  dear." 

"  Paris  is  the  capital  of  France,"  answered  Madeline, 
in  her  precise  way. 

"  Yes,"  Goeffrey  said,  "  and  when  I  was  a  boy,  it  was 
bounded  on  the  north  by  the  Pare  Monceau,  on  the  east 
by  the  Nouveau  Cirque,  on  the  west  by  the  Luxem- 
bourg Gardens  and  on  the  south  by  a  pastry  cook's 
shop  in  the  Palais  Royale,  where  Richard  and  I  used 
to  spend  our  pocket  money." 

Nina  laughed.  "  How  clearly  that  brings  something 
back  to  me,"  she  said.  "  I  remember  Richard's  pre- 
senting to  me  with  great  eclat,  a  box  of  little  cakes 


50  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

once,  when  we  were  there  together,  and  when  you  spoke 
of  the  pastry  cook's,  it  brought  that  box  vividly  before 
me.  I  can  remember  it  quite  distinctly,  white  and  shiny 
with  gilt  edges,  it  was  tied  with  a  little  blue  ribbon  and 
I  can  see  it,  as  plainly  as  if  I  had  it  in  my  hand  now. 
Doubonnet  —  Patissier  —  Palais  Royalc." 

"  The  very  place,"  said  Goeffrey. 

"  I  was  very  much  impressed  by  Richard's  magnifi- 
cence," Nina  continued,  "  and  I  am  afraid  that  for  a 
time  I  thought  you  quite  beneath  my  notice." 

"And  do  you  know  what  that  wretched  boy  had 
done?  "  Goeffrey  rejoined.  "  You  know  what  rivals  we 
were  where  you  were  concerned.  Well,  he  had  spent  all 
of  his  own  allowance  and  so  he  borrowed  my  last  franc 
and  bought  those  cakes  with  it.  I  punched  him  well 
when  I  found  that  he  had  stolen  such  a  march  on 
me." 

"  But,  Goeffrey,  that  really  was  fine  of  you  —  to  be 
loyal  to  him  like  that  —  you  never  told  me." 

"  Of  course  not,  it  was  nothing." 

"But  it  must  have  seemed  like  something  then?" 

"  It  would  seem  like  something  now,  Nina,"  Goeffrey 
answered. 

She  turned  toward  him  quickly  in  surprise  —  "  What 
do  you  mean?  "  she  asked,  and  then  looked  away  again. 
"  Plush,"  she  said,  and  Goeffrey  saw  that  the  curtain 
was  going  up  on  the  second  act. 

The  intrigues  of  Rosina,  of  Figaro,  and  the  Count, 
were  an  old  story  to  Goeffrey  and  after  a  few  moments 
he  ceased  to  be  interested  in  them.  But  how  charm- 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  51 

ing  it  was  to  sit  so  intimately  in  this  little  circle,  with 
the  children,  who  tired  already  of  being  attentive,  were 
trying,  with  naive  abstraction,  to  count  the  lights  in  the 
central  chandelier.  With  Aunt  Mary,  who  a  little  bored 
too,  was  looking  in  the  program  at  the  names  of  the 
new  subscribers  and  then  scrutinizing  their  boxes 
closely,  and  with  Nina.  "  How  attractive  she  is,"  he 
thought,  "  how  pretty."  Ke  was  sitting  beside  and  a 
little  behind  her  and  he  looked  at  her  furtively.  She 
was  tall,  straight  and  well  shaped,  her  slender  neck  sup- 
ported a  little  head  whose  small  square  chin  and  short 
straight  nose,  indicated  that  she  did  not  lack  decision. 
Her  clear  skin,  her  dark  crisp  brown  hair  and  her 
violet  eyes,  gave  an  impression  of  vitality.  She  had 
very  white  teeth  and  her  lips  curved  up  at  the  corners 
of  her  mouth  with  a  curious  petulant  expression,  which 
Goeffrey  thought  wholly  delightful. 

"  How  attractive,"  he  repeated,  and  leaning  over  to 
her  he  said: 

"  I  wonder  if  you  could  not  go  to  tea  with  me  after 
it  is  over.  We  shall  be  out  by  five." 

Nina  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  Why,  yes,  I  should 
love  to." 

"Would  your  Aunt  mind?" 

Nina  laughed.  "  If  I  went  to  tea  with  you  —  rather 
not.  Don't  you  know  that  you  are  a  Waverly  Place 
Hunter,  a  cousin  of  the  Waverly  Place  Whitelys  and 
that  you  can  do  no  wrong?  " 

"  Then  you  will  come?  "  Goeffrey  repeated. 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  shall." 


52  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  a  lot  of  things,"  he 
continued.  "  I  have  so  much  to  tell  you." 

"  How  interesting,"  said  Nina,  "  what  kind  of  things, 
tell  me?" 

"  About  Richard  for  one  thing.  I  want  to  ask  your 
advice  about  him,  you  are  so  sensible  and  clear  headed 
—  and  then  I  want  to  talk  about  myself  too." 

"About  yourself?" 

"  Yes,  if  I  have  the  courage." 

"  Courage?  I  never  thought  that  you  were  lacking 
in  that." 

"  But  it  is  about  myself  in  connection  with  some- 
one else."  Goeffrey  hoped  that  she  would  ask  him  who 
it  was  that  he  wished  to  talk  about  himself  in  connec- 
tion with,  but  she  did  not  answer. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  who  the  someone  else  is  ?  "  he  asked 
at  length. 

"  If  you  like,"  she  answered  indifferently. 

"  It  is  you  —  Will  you  let  me  talk  to  you  very  freely, 
without  reserve?  If  I  have  the  courage?" 

Goeffrey  saw  a  faint  flush  rise  in  her  cheeks,  her  lips 
parted  as  if  she  were  about  to  answer  him,  but  she 
hesitated.  All  at  once  her  expression  changed. 
"  Hush,"  she  whispered  again,  "  the  singing  lesson." 

The  orchestra,  which  had  been  following  the  ever  vary- 
ing tempo  of  the  score,  stopped  for  a  moment,  and  then 
the  long  swinging  movements  of  the  "  Primavera  "  rose 
and  filled  the  house  with  its  irresistible  rhythm  and 
Sembrich's  flute-like  voice,  with  all  its  matchless  art, 
floated  out  in  unison.  Swaying  waves  of  delicious 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  53 

sound  floated  about  them.  Interweavings  of  rhythm- 
ical movements.  Goeffrey's  pulses  seemed  to  beat  time 
to  them,  and  always  quickly  responsive  to  the  more 
lyrical  forms  of  musical  expression,  the  odd  idea  came 
to  him  that  it  would  be  quite  easy  for  him  to  float  off 
into  space  and  to  perform  the  evolutions  of  the  waltz 
with  movements  of  exaggerated  but  fantastic  grace,  far 
above  the  heads  of  the  audience.  He  looked  at  Nina, 
whose  only  answer  was  a  smile.  She  was  moving  her 
head  slightly  too,  in  tune  with  the  music,  and  her  body 
swayed  rhythmically. 

"  How  wonderful  it  would  be  if  we  could  dance  it," 
he  said  to  her,  "  to  that  orchestra  and  to  Sembrich's 
voice." 

A  faint  color  had  come  into  her  cheeks  again,  her  eyes 
were  shining.  "  Ah !  no !  "  she  answered,  "  I  couldn't, 
it  would  be  too  ecstatic." 

"  Goeffrey  is  going  to  take  me  home,  Auntie,"  Nina 
said,  after  the  curtain  had  gone  down  on  the  finale, 
"  and  I  think  we  would  like  to  walk.  We  shall  probably 
stop  and  get  a  cup  of  tea  somewhere.  Here  is  the 
carriage  number,"  she  added,  handing  her  the  ticket. 
"  You  are  sure  that  you  won't  mind  taking  the  chil- 
dren?" 

"  Very  sure  of  that  and  also  sure  that  Mr.  Goeffrey 
is  to  be  trusted,"  answered  Aunt  Mary  cordially. 
"  Noblesse  oblige." 

"  Did  you  come  in  your  car?  "  asked  Nina,  as  they 
left  the  box.  "  What  will  your  man  do  if  he  doesn't  find 
you?" 


5*  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  He'll  go  home,  he's  never  sure  of  finding  me  any- 
where." 

They  had  not  spoken  since  Sembrich  had  finished 
singing  the  "Primavera."  Nina  had  become  absorbed 
in  the  performance  again  and  had  seemed  unconscious 
of  her  surroundings,  except  once  when  Humphrey  had 
laughed  heartily  during  the  scene  in  which  Figaro  shaves 
Rosina's  guardian.  She  had  given  him  a  quick  smile 
then  and  had  included  Goeffrey  in  it. 

Nina  laughed.  "  Oh  Goeffrey,  how  delightfully  irre- 
sponsible you  are." 

"  But  how  can  one  be  responsible  without  responsi- 
bilities ?  "  he  answered.  "  I  haven't  any,  I  wish  I  had. 
Shall  we  go  to  Sherry's?  " 

He  was  feeling  quite  gay,  quite  light  hearted  again. 
It  seemed  so  good  to  have  her  walking  beside  him  in  her 
modish  gown,  her  smart  hat  —  with  her  air  of  self  re- 
liance, made  more  vivid  by  that  little  petulant  expres- 
sion at  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"  That's  one  of  the  things  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about." 

"About  acquiring  responsibilities?"  she  asked  in- 
nocently. 

Goeffrey  looked  up  quickly  to  see  if  she  were  laughing 
at  him. 

"  And  Richard,"  said  Nina,  after  they  had  emerged 
from  the  maelstrom  of  traffic,  that  surged  in  Broadway 
and  were  nearing  Fifth  Avenue  through  one  of  the  cross 
streets,  "  shouldn't  you  have  found  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  went  out  with  Mrs,  Martel,  long  before  we 
did." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  55 

"  There  he  is  now,"  Goeff rey  announced,  indicating 
a  distant  corner,  when  they  had  seated  themselves  in 
the  large  dining-room  — "  with  Mrs.  Martel.  And 
speaking  of  responsibilities,  I  am  afraid  I  have  acquired 
one  with  a  vengeance." 

"What  is  it?"  Nina  aslced. 

"  It's  Richard,  he's  lost  his  money,  every  penny  of  it." 

"Goeff  rey!" 

"  This  is  quite  entre  nous  you  understand,  yes,  every 
penny  and  he  has  come  to  me  — " 

"  How  awful,  but  what  can  you  do  for  him?  " 

"  I  can  easily  economize,  I  don't  spend  all  of  my  in- 
come now,  and  I  can  very  well  arrange  it  so  that  he 
can  have  half.  The  only  thing  is  that  I  am  afraid  that 
it  won't  be  nearly  enough  —  he  must  be  frightfully 
extravagant." 

Nina  listened  to  him  as  if  she  would  hardly  believe 
what  he  was  saying. 

"  But  Goeffrey,  that's  Quixotic  —  Richard  has  no 
claim  on  you,  you  have  no  right  to  do  a  thing  like 
that  — " 

"  Why  no  right?  He  is  my  cousin,  we  were  boys  to- 
gether, do  you  imagine  that  I  could  see  him  ruined  as 
he  is,  and  not  offer  to  share  what  I  have  with  him?  " 

"  But  suppose  that  you  had  lost  your  money, 
and  that  Richard  had  made  you  such  an  offer,  would 
you  accept  it?  " 

Goeffrey  hesitated.  "  But  that's  different,  somehow. 
It  will  be  such  a  pleasure  for  me  to  do  it." 

"And  you  mean  that  it  wouldn't  be  for  him?" 

"  No,  I  didn't  mean  that  exactly,  that  would  be  un- 


56  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

kind,  but  you  see  Richard  is  quite  helpless.     He  can't 
make  money." 

"  He  won't  try,  Goeff rey  —  he'll  marry  it." 

Goeffrey  looked  up  quickly,  an  expression  of  ad- 
miration on  his  face. 

"  How  clever  you  are,"  he  said,  "  of  course  he  will. 
Do  you  know  I  never  thought  of  that." 

"  And  Goeffrey,  you  have  got  to  promise  me  that  you 
will  make  no  definite  arrangement  with  him  about 
money —  I  know  something  about  life,  I  know  what 
Richard  is;  he  is  a  man  of  pleasure;  that's  all.  He 
has  many  charming  qualities  and  some  good  ones  per- 
haps, but  he  is  quite  irresponsible  and  he  is  weak.  No 
matter  what  you  give  him,  he  will  spend  more.  You 
must  not  bind  yourself  in  any  way  r —  will  you  prom- 
ise?" 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  Goeffrey,  hesitating. 

"  I  know  that  I  am  right.  I  have  heard  about  Rich- 
ard from  time  to  time,  more  than  you  have,  perhaps, 
and  I  know  that  he  has  been  very  wild.  It  may  be 
after  the  lesson  he  has  had,  that  he  will  be  willing  to 
settle  down.  There  are  plenty  of  girls  who  would  be 
glad  to  have  a  man,  like  that,  with  his  fascinations,  his 
accomplishments.  But  she  must  have  money,  a  great 
deal  of  it." 

"  That's  just  what  he  said,  that  he  did  not  know  how 
to  live  any  other  life  than  that  which  is  made  possible 
by  a  great  deal  of  money.  Do  you  think  that  that 
is  true?  That  if  one  has  had  money,  all  one's  life,  so 
much  that  one  has  always  been  able  to  get  what  one 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  57 

wanted,  has  never  had  to  stop  to  think  about  the  cost 
of  things,  has  never  known  the  disadvantages  of  being 
poor,  and  then  loses  everything,  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  live?  To  learn  how  to  live  without  it?  " 

Nina's  expression  had  become  very  grave  as  Goef- 
frey  put  this  question  to  her,  and  she  seemed  to  be  con- 
sidering her  answer  with  a  seriousness  which  was  al- 
most unnecessary.  Goeffrey  recalled  this  long  after- 
wards. 

"It  may  seem  cowardly  to  say  so,"  she  answered  at 
length,  "  but  I  am  afraid  that  Richard  is  right.  Money 
doesn't  count  with  us  because  we  have  it,  but  think  of 
suddenly  finding  out  that  it  really  means  everything, 
everything  in  life  —  and  that  we  haven't  any.  Because 
after  all,  Goeffrey,  it  does  mean  everything.  Poor 
people  have  their  emotions,  their  individual  tempera- 
ments and  are  happy  or  unhappy  through  them,  just 
as  we  are  —  but  the  one  essential  thing  in  life  to  people, 
who  have  money,  is  money.  I  am  sure  of  it.  Do  you 
think  it  quite  heartless  of  me  to  say  so?  " 

"  No,"  said  Goeffrey,  "  but  I  feel  somehow  that  you 
are  wrong." 

"  Shall  we  go  now?  "  she  said,  "  it  is  getting  late." 
She  got  up,  still  with  that  gravity  of  manner,  and  they 
went  out  without  speaking. 

"  You  will  remember  what  I  asked  you  to  promise  me 
about  Richard,"  she  reminded  him  as  they  turned  down 
Fifth  Avenue. 

"Yes,"  said  Goeffrey. 

"And  you  promise?" 


58  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Yes,  I  promise  to  make  no  definite  arrangement  for 
the  present  at  least,  and  I  will  let  you  know  before  I 
do."  And  they  walked  on  again  in  silence. 

"  No,"  Goeffrey  thought  it  could  not  be  that  Nina 
was  right.  He  had  never  felt  the  want  of  money  and 
yet  he  had  often  been  wretchedly  unhappy.  He  looked 
at  her  as  she  walked  beside  him  with  that  expression 
of  gravity  which  still  rested  on  her  face,  and  he  was 
sure  that  her  thoughts  were  not  happy  ones.  No, 
there  were  things  in  life  worth  much  more  than  that, 
than  money. 

Nina  lived  in  that  quarter  of  the  city  known  as  Murray 
Hill,  and  as  they  reached  Thirty-seventh  Street,  they 
paused  for  a  moment  and  looked  toward  the  south.  The 
avenue  from  where  they  stood,  fell  away  in  a  long  down- 
ward sweep  to  Madison  Square,  as  if  bending  beneath 
the  weight  of  the  buildings,  beneath  the  masses  of  stone, 
steel  and  iron  piled  on  either  side  of  it.  It  was  almost 
dark.  A  wintry  sky  with  masses  of  stormy  clouds  rose 
before  them  against  which  the  silhouettes  of  the  enor- 
mous structures  showed  black,  with  a  kind  of  fantastic 
grandeur.  The  lines  of  the  street  lights,  looking  like 
silver  globes,  receded  in  long  curves  and  between  them 
a  river  of  yellow  lamps  on  the  carriages  and  motors, 
flowed  ceaselessly  toward  the  north.  A  wind  from  the 
east,  strong  and  biting,  made  the  blood  tingle,  and  the 
scene  spread  out  before  them,  the  fantastic  buildings, 
the  stormy  sky,  the  rows  of  lamps,  the  moving  crowds 
on  the  pavements,  gave  them  the  impression  that  they 
were  looking  at  the  manifestation  of  forces  which 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  59 

were  powerful,  complex  and  incomprehensible.  They 
paused  still  for  another  moment,  and  then  went  on 
again. 

"  Life  is  very  strange,"  said  Nina  at  last. 

"  Life  is  what  we  make  it,"  answered  Goeffrey,  think- 
ing perhaps  of  Richard. 

"  A  man  may  say  that,"  Nina  returned  with  a  sigh, 
"  but  with  a  woman,  life  is  so  often  what  other  people 
make  it  for  her." 

"  Nina,"  Goeffrey  said  to  her,  speaking  very  ear- 
nestly, "  I  told  you  at  the  opera  that  I  was  going  to  ask 
you  something  if  I  had  the  courage  —  I  have  found 
my  courage  at  last  and  so  I  shall  ask  you  now.  Let 
me  help  you  to  make  your  life  what  you  would  like  it 
to  be.  We  have  been  talking  about  money.  I  have 
never  known  the  want  of  it,  nor  have  you,  but  there  is 
something  lacking  in  my  life  that  I  know  quite  well  it 
can  never  get  for  me.  You  said  that  money  was  the  one 
essential  thing,  but  I  know  that  you  are  wrong — • 
there  are  two  things  worth  much  more,  and  they  are 
love  and  sympathy  —  do  you  think  me  very  sentimental 
when  I  say  this?  And  although  you  have  never  told 
me,  don't  you  feel  yourself  that  you  need  something; 
that  life  lacks  something  for  you  in  order  to  make  it 
complete?  Isn't  it  true?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  speaking  so  softly  that  he  could 
hardly  hear  her. 

"  And  you  lack  just  those  things,  love  and  sympathy, 
and  I  can  give  them  to  you  — 

"  Is  that  really  what  you  were  going  to  ask  me,  Goef- 


60  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

frey?  "  she  said  at  length,  but  with  no  hint  of  incredul- 
ity in  her  question. 

"  Yes,  that  was  it,  but  I  have  been  afraid  to  speak 
about  it.  At  times  I  have  wanted  not  to,  because  I 
used  to  delude  myself  too,  with  the  idea  that  having 
money,  I  needed  nothing  else,  but  lately  I  have  been 
finding  out  my  mistake  —  I  do  need  something  —  you 
* — very,  very  much." 

"  Can  you  answer  me  ?  "  he  added  after  a  moment. 

They  had  reached  her  house  and  were  standing  at 
the  foot  of  the  steps. 

"  Not  now,  Goeff rey,  I  must  think." 

"  May  I  call  to-morrow?  " 

"  Not  here,  I  am  never  alone,  and  not  so  soon,  I 
must  have  more  time"  —  she  paused  a  moment  and  then 
added  — "  Come  to  Constance's  next  Thursday,"  and 
she  held  out  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  V 

IT  occurred  to  Goeffrey  as  he  walked  home,  that  he  had 
had  an  eventful  day.  He  had  made  an  offer  of  mar- 
riage to  one  woman  and  a  proposal  of  a  much  less  con- 
ventional kind  to  another  within  a  few  hours.  Yet  he 
had  been  quite  sincere  with  each.  His  invitation  to 
Doris  was  the  result  of  a  sudden  and  inexplicable  act 
on  her  part  and  its  effect  on  a  deeply  sympathetic  bond 
which  had  been  developed  between  them.  It  was  en- 
tirely spontaneous  and  unpremeditated,  while  his  pro- 
posal to  Nina  was  the  result  of  deliberation,  after  he 
had,  by  a  slow  process,  reached  the  conclusion  that  it 
was  time  to  settle  down.  His  temporary  defection 
under  the  attraction  which  Doris  undoubtedly  had  for 
him,  did  not  in  any  way  indicate  a  lack  of  sincerity  with 
Nina.  Love  with  young  people  may  sometimes  be  less 
personal  than  is  generally  supposed.  It  may  be  a 
commodity  which  they  are  eager  to  exchange  for  equal 
value.  They  may  feel  the  need  of  loving  and  of  being 
loved. 

Richard  returned  to  Goeffrey's  rooms  at  seven,  and 
after  dining  quietly  at  the  latter's  club,  they  had  re- 
turned to  them  at  once. 

The  east  wind,  which  had  been  blowing  all  day,  had 
increased  in  violence,  and  in  the  morning,  the  city  was 

61 


62  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

being  swept  by  torrents  of  cold  and  penetrating  rain, 
through  which  the  buildings  at  times  appeared  dimly, 
and  at  times  vanished  as  if  being  looked  at  through  the 
waving  folds  of  an  enormous  curtain,  semi-transparent. 
The  pavements  were  deserted  and  as  night  fell,  the  re- 
flections of  the  lamps  on  the  surface  of  the  streaming 
asphalt,  gave  the  streets  the  appearance  of  canals,  brim- 
ming with  black  water. 

During  the  ensuing  night  the  temperature  fell 
sharply,  and  on  Monday  the  whole  city  was  encased  in 
ice.  The  buildings  in  course  of  demolition  and  the 
steel  cages  of  the  new  structures,  stood  deserted.  A  fine 
rain  still  descended,  freezing  as  it  fell,  the  streets  were 
like  glass  and  it  would  seem  that  the  activities  of  the 
city  must  be  frozen  under  this  icy  covering. 

But  nothing  stops  the  cohorts  of  those  relentless 
armies  that  battle  all  day  in  the  city.  From  every  side 
they  press  in.  The  wheels  of  the  electric  trains,  driven 
by  their  powerful  motors,  slip  on  their  icy  rails,  but 
they  must  carry  their  regiments.  The  tunnels  sweat 
with  their  steaming  swarms.  The  ferry  boats  groaning 
under  their  burdens,  push  their  way  in  their  slips;  and 
as  these  thousands  are  disgorged  into  the  streets,  a 
galvanic  activity  seizes  them ;  the  machinery  of  the  city 
begins  to  move  and  that  strange  battle,  which  is  re- 
newed each  day,  begins  again.  In  the  great  buildings, 
the  elevators  sweep  ceaselessly  up  and  down,  metal  doors 
clash,  a  million  telephone  bells  ring,  the  telegraphic 
transmitters  and  the  stock  indicators  click  unendingly, 
the  electric  trams  grinding  on  their  steel  grooves,  clang 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  63 

their  bells,  the  rushing  trains  in  the  tunnels  shake  the 
earth,  a  million  activities  lend  their  varied  sounds  to 
a  bedlam  already  defying  analysis  and  ever  up  and 
down,  in  and  out,  the  hordes  surge  unendingly.  The 
ice  in  the  streets  is  rubbed  into  a  greasy  slush  under 
their  feet,  the  freezing  rain  is  unheeded,  nothing  can 
stop  them  and  yet  in  all  this  strife,  this  ceaseless 
spending  of  energy,  there  seems  to  be  something  auto- 
matic, something  unintelligent,  a  kind  of  somnambulistic 
frenzy,  and  that  if  one  should  say  to  them,  "Whither? 
For  what  purpose?  "  they  would  stop,  look  up  dumbly 
and  pass  on  in  confusion,  not  knowing  what  to  say.  , 

The  temperature  rising,  a  dense  fall  of  snow  fol- 
lowed. Soft,  heavy  and  continuous,  changing  again 
to  rain  and  it  was  not  until  Thursday  morning  that 
angry  gleams  shining  through  masses  of  dark  clouds, 
showed  that  the  storm  was  passing. 

During  these  days,  Waters'  culinary  resources  were 
tested  severely,  as  Goeffrey  had  decided  that  he  would 
take  his  meals  at  home  until  the  weather  improved. 
Richard  had  been  out  twice,  returning  each  time  in 
excellent  spirits.  He  had  not  referred  again  to  his 
affairs  and  Goeffrey,  much  occupied  with  his  own,  had 
made  no  attempt  to  discuss  them  with  him.  He  had, 
however,  offered  his  cousin  a  generous  loan,  which  the 
latter  had  accepted  gratefully. 

Mrs.  Aladine  had  never  abandoned  the  old  custom 
of  a  weekly  day,  but  on  this  afternoon  at  five,  only 
three  persons  sat  with  her  in  the  library  of  the  great 
house  her  husband  had  left  her  when  he  died,  Nina, 


64. 

Goeffrey  and  Mr.  Bancroft.  Richard  had  promised 
to  drop  in  later.  Mr.  Bancroft,  an  old  gentleman  of 
whom  time  had  bereft  almost  everything  except  an 
income,  came  each  week  with  unfailing  regularity.  !A 
bachelor  so  old  that  he  had  outlived  most  of  his  con- 
temporaries, he  knew  that  here  at  least,  he  was  always 
welcome.  He  was  inordinately  fond  of  tea.  Every 
week,  after  he  had  finished  his  first  cup,  and  when  Mrs. 
Aladine  without  asking  permission,  would  proceed  to 
fill  it  again,  he  would  raise  his  hand  with  a  protesting 
gesture  saying,  "  No  more,  dear  lady !  "  and  Constance, 
without  stopping,  would  answer  softly,  "  Just  one  cup 
to  please  me,"  and  he  would  acquiesce  with  a  gratified 
smile.  This  byplay  would  be  repeated  invariably  four 
and  perhaps  five  times,  with  almost  the  same  gestures, 
the  same  words. 

Tea  had  not  yet  arrived  and  Mr.  Bancroft  was  grow- 
ing noticeably  restless.  Goeffrey  rose  and  going  to  one 
of  the  windows,  turned  the  knob  of  the  ormolu  espag- 
nolette  and  opened  the  casement.  On  the  Avenue, 
carriages  and  motor  cars  were  to  be  seen  again,  mov- 
ing rapidly  north  and  south,  an  occasional  pedestrian 
passed.  In  the  park  opposite,  dark  branches  showed 
against  the  sky,  and  far  on  the  other  side  vast  cubes  of 
masonry  rose  from  which  lights  gleamed.  A  rush  of 
cold  air  entered  the  room  bringing  with  it  the  odor  of 
dead  leaves  and  of  earth  soaked  with  rain. 

Mrs.  Aladine  shivered.  "  Shut  the  window,  Goeffrey, 
please."  Leaning  across  the  arm  of  her  chair,  she 
pressed  an  electric  button. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  65 

Goeffrey  closed  the  casement,  but  before  returning 
he  looked  about  him,  at  this  room  which  he  had  seen  so 
often  but  which  never  failed  to  impress  him  pleasur- 
ably  with  its  cunning  semblance  of  antiquity. 

Fifty  feet  long  and  perhaps  eighteen  high,  fluted 
pilasters  of  some  dark  wood  with  capitals  of  dull  gold 
supported  the  cornice.  The  ceiling  at  the  ends  and 
sides  was  divided  by  carved  moldings,  into  panels  of 
varied  and  yet  symmetrical  shapes,  enriched  with  frets 
and  dentals,  garlands  and  cupids.  And  all  of  this  pro- 
fusion of  ornament,  the  flowers,  the  cornucopiae  dis- 
charging from  their  escalloped  mouths,  masses  of  fruit, 
the  arabesques  and  the  fretted  moldings,  all  gleaming 
with  the  dusty  tones  of  antique  gilding,  formed  but  a 
frame  for  the  great  central  panel  thirty  feet  long,  in 
which  glowed  a  painting  from  a  Venetian  palace,  a  Tie- 
polo,  "  Mercury  Descending  from  Olympus."  Between 
the  pilasters  from  floor  to  cornice,  the  recessed  walls 
were  filled  with  books.  At  the  end  of  the  room  where 
Mrs.  Aladine  and  her  companions  sat,  blazing  logs,  in 
a  great  fireplace  of  black  and  yellow  marble,  cast  a 
ruddy  light  on  the  floor  and  on  the  walls,  and  in  a  dis- 
tant corner  a  single  reading  lamp,  upon  a  table,  made 
the  surrounding  gloom  translucent. 

An  old  servant  dressed  in  black  breeches,  black 
stockings  and  a  purple  coat,  entered. 

"  Ask  Hopkins  to  bring  tea,  if  you  please,  Jacob," 
Mrs.  Aladine  said. 

"  Yes,  madam." 

No  one  spoke  for  some  moments,  sitting  quietly  under 


66  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

the  hypnotic  influence  of  the  dancing  flames.  Presently 
the  whirr  of  a  motor  rose  from  the  street,  a  bell  sounded 
from  the  distance  and  a  door  closed  with  a  heavy  clang 
of  metal.  Steps  were  heard  on  the  marble  treads  of  the 
staircase. 

"  Will  you  look  at  the  Rembrandt,  sir?  "  Jacob  was 
heard  saying  in  a  respectful  tone,  from  the  foyer. 

"  A  glimpse,  Jacob,"  answered  a  strong  almost  harsh 
voice. 

Someone  crossed  the  hall,  the  click  of  electric  buttons 
sounded  and  a  flood  of  light  illuminated  a  doorway  at 
the  further  end  of  the  library  leading  to  the  drawing- 
room. 

Mrs.  Aladine  smiled. 

"  That  is  Mr.  Storey ;  it  is  a  whim  of  his,  he  always 
looks  at  it  as  soon  as  he  comes  in  and  just  as  he  is  go- 
ing away,"  and  raising  her  voice,  she  called,  "  we  are  in 
here,  Vincent." 

"  An  extraordinary  man,"  remarked  Mr.  Bancroft, 
"  a  harsh,  powerful  man  and  yet  I  sometimes  think,  one 
gifted,  or  cursed,  with  very  delicate  sensibilities." 

A  huge  bulky  figure  appeared  in  the  doorway. 
"  Jacob,"  he  called  to  the  old  servant,  "  telephone  my 
secretary,  that  I  shall  be  here  for  an  hour,  but  not  to 
disturb  me  unless  absolutely  necessary." 

He  was  enormous;  not  only  tall  but  grossly  fat — • 
and  yet  he  walked  with  an  active,  almost  light  step. 
His  head,  with  its  powerful  chin,  square  cranium,  cov- 
ered sparsely  with  black  hair,  and  finely  modeled  nose, 
conveyed,  in  spite  of  his  enormous  jowls,  an  impression 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  67 

of  force,  perhaps  nobility,  but  one  of  those  purplish 
birthmarks,  beginning  broadly  on  the  right  temple,  and 
almost  encircling  the  eye,  gave  him  an  expression  almost 
sinister  and  aroused  at  the  first  glance,  a  feeling  of 
repulsion. 

Hopkins,  who  had  just  come  in  with  tea,  wheeled  a 
large  chair  up  to  the  fire  and  Storey  lowered  himself 
into  it,  after  greeting  each  in  turn. 

"  What  is  this,"  he  asked,  picking  up  from  the  table 
at  his  elbow  a  statuette  of  cast  brass,  six  inches  high; 
a  grotesque  representation  of  a  nude  woman  performing 
the  "  danse  du  ventre." 

"  A  Persian  antique,  Vincent,"  answered  Constance. 
"  I  saw  it  in  a  shop  the  other  day  and  I  bought  it  for 
you.  Do  you  like  it?" 

Storey  looked  up  quickly  and  held  out  his  hand. 
"  That  was  good  of  you,  to  think  of  me,"  he  said  in 
his  deep  voice,  "  but  I  should  like  to  give  you  something 
in  exchange  for  it  —  do  you  know  what  I  have  thought  ? 
Goeffrey,  you  are  a  man  of  taste,  isn't  something  needed 
at  the  top  of  the  stairs  between  the  candelabras?  " 

"  But  not  to  hide  the  tapestry  there,"  Goeffrey  re- 
monstrated. 

"  Of  course  not  to  hide  the  tapestry,  just  below  it. 
I  bought  a  chest  in  Rome  a  couple  of  months  ago, 
which  would  go  excellently  there  I  think.  I  will  send 
it  to  you  when  I  get  it." 

"  Oh,  Vincent,"  answered  Constance,  laughing,  "  I 
shall  never  make  any  more  exchanges  with  you,  I  always 
get  so  much  the  best  of  the  bargain." 


68  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  If  you  don't  like  my  chest,  send  it  back,  but  I  warn 
you  that  I  shall  not  return  you  your  Persian  antique ;  it 
is  immensely  clever,  and  do  you  know,"  he  continued, 
"that  I  have  seen  it  before?  yes,  twenty  years  ago  — 
It  was  in  the  collection  of  Prince  Demidoff ,  when  it  was 
sold  at  Florence.  I  bought  a  few  things  and  I  wanted 
this,  but  I  got  there  a  little  late  that  day  and  it  had 
disappeared." 

Nina  had  gone  to  the  piano  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  and  was  playing  the  "  Primavera  "  softly.  Goef- 
frey  got  up  and  went  toward  her,  his  heart  thumping 
in  his  breast. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  it  took  a  very  long  time  to  cross 
the  room,  as  if  he  were  being  urged  toward  her  and  at 
the  same  time  retarded  by  opposing  forces ;  a  sort  of 
terror  seized  him;  suppose  she  should  say  yes,  was  he 
making  a  mistake?  For  a  moment  he  saw  Doris  again, 
seated  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  with  that  air  of  depres- 
sion, of  fatigue,  that  air  of  one  carrying  a  burden  hard 
to  bear,  and  he  hesitated  —  but  suppose  she  said  no.  At 
this  thought  he  was  still  more  terrified,  and  he  went  on 
again. 

"  I  am  worried  about  Nina,"  Constance  was  saying 
in  an  undertone,  "  she  has  seemed  nervous  and  unhappy 
of  late." 

"  I  have  noticed  that  that  young  man  seems  very  fond 
of  her,"  observed  Mr.  Bancroft,  putting  down  his  cup. 
"  No  more,  dear  lady,"  he  continued,  raising  his  hand. 

"  To  please  me,"  Constance  answered,  smiling  at  him 
with  that  air  of  charming  coquetry,  which  some  women 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  69 

reserve  for  old  men.  "  She  is  fond  of  him  too  I  think, 
but  it  isn't  that,  it's  something  at  home.  It  is  remark- 
able what  a  nice  girl  she  is  when  one  considers  her  bring- 
ing up  under  the  care  of  that  eccentric  old  woman.  She 
never  sees  her  father." 

"  I  am  afraid  Davidge  is  getting  to  the  end  of  his 
rope,"  Storey  said,  lowering  his  voice. 

"  Are  there  rumors  about  him?  " 

"  Not  yet,  but  there  will  be." 

"  I  hope  Goeffrey's  money  is  safe." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Storey,  looking  at  her. 

"Didn't  you  know  that  Mr.  Davidge  is  trustee  of 
Goeffrey's  father's  estate?" 

An  expression  almost  of  amazement  crossed  Storey's 
features.  "  Davidge,  of  all  men !  "  He  turned  to  Jacob 
who  had  come  in  with  some  message  for  his  mistress, 
"  Will  you  get  my  secretary  on  the  telephone  and  let 
me  know,  I  would  like  to  speak  to  him." 

"  I  will  try,  sir,"  Jacob  answered,  "  but  I  have  been 
unable  to  get  him  yet." 

Goeffrey  had  reached  Nina's  side  and  was  bending 
over  her.  His  agitation  made  it  hard  for  him  to  speak. 
"  Nina,  will  you  tell  me?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  Tell  you  what,"  she  answered.  She  did  not  look 
up  and  her  fingers  did  not  cease  moving  over  the  keys. 

"  You  know." 

"  But  what  can  I  say.  So  many  people  who  marry, 
regret  it  so  soon." 

"  But  we  would  not." 

"Why?" 


70  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Because,  Nina,  I  know  —  I  know  that  we  would 
not." 

"  Is  that  a  reason,  Goeffrey?  " 

"  No,  but  you  know  that  sometimes  we  feel  that  things 
are  so,  without  knowing  why  —  we  have  convictions, 
presentiments  that  we  know  are  trustworthy." 

"  Yes."  0 

"  And  I  have  a  presentiment  like  that  about  you  and 
about  myself." 

"  I  have  presentiments  too,"  she  said  presently. 

"About  me?" 

"  Yes." 

"  About  yourself?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Don't  you  believe  that  I  am  sincere  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Are  you  more  sure  of  yourself  than  of  me?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  glanced  up  at  him  quickly 
and  looked  down  again. 

"Perhaps."     Did  she  mean  to  give  him  hope? 

"  Nina,"  he  exclaimed  and  checked  himself,  "  you 
know  what  you  were,  to  tell  me  to-day,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  You  know  what  I  want  you  to  say,  what  would 
make  me  happier  than  anything  else  to  hear." 

Nina  still  played  the  Primavera  softly.  He  could  not 
see  her  eyes,  which  half  veiled  by  their  lashes,  were  fixed 
on  the  key  board.  The  subdued  notes  of  the  music 
gave  an  emotional  emphasis  to  the  spoken  words. 

"  When  I  came  over  to  you,"  Goeffrey  continued, 
"  the  thought  came  to  me  that  you  might  say  '  No,' 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  71 

and  the  possibility  of  such  an  answer  terrified  me  be- 
yond words.  Don't  say  that,  say  what  I  want  so  much 
to  hear  —  please,  please." 

"  But  are  you  sure  ?  "  she  answered,  still  playing,  in 
a  voice  so  low  that  he  had  to  bend  yet  closer  to  hear 
her,  "  are  you  quite,  quite  sure?  Isn't  it  perhaps  more 
because  you  are  tired  of  the  life  you  have  been  leading 
and  that  you  want  to  change  it  —  more  than  that  you 
want  me?  Are  you  quite,  quite  sure?  " 

As  she  was  speaking,  he  noticed  her  round  wrists  with 
the  white  firm  hands  moving  skillfully  on  the  keys  — 
the  soft  rise  and  fall  of  her  breathing,  the  curve  of  her 
cheeks  on  which  the  downcast  lashes  made  faint 
shadows,  the  waves  of  her  dark  hair  under  the  rim  of  her 
hat,  and  he  felt  that  she  was  more  desirable,  more  to 
be  wanted  than  anything  in  life. 

She  raised  her  head  slowly  and  stared  straight  into 
his  eyes,  but  with  an  apparent  air  of  abstraction  that 
seemed  to  rob  her  look  of  any  personal  significance. 

"Are  you  quite,  quite  sure?"  she  repeated. 

The  arrangement  of  the  waltz  was  not  an  easy  one, 
but  she  was  playing  it  without  effort.  The  tempo, 
which  she  had  increased  slightly,  seemed  to  bear  him  into 
regions  of  lyrical  expression  as  he  answered  her. 

"  Quite  sure,"  he  said,  "  more  sure  than  I  can  tell 
you,  so  sure  that  if  you  say  *  No,'  I  shall  go  away,  be- 
cause I  could  not  bear  to  be  where  I  could  see  you  — 
be  always  reminded  of  what  I  wanted  so  much  and  could 
not  have.  Oh !  Nina,  tell  me,  but  please  don't  say  that 
it  is  <  No.'  " 


72  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

She  began  to  sway  slightly  to  the  music  whose  tempo 
she  had  again  increased  until  with  two  sharp  chords 
she  stopped,  raised  her  head  with  a  bewitching  smile 
and  looked  again  straight  into  his  eyes. 

"  It's  '  Yes,'  Goeffrey,"  she  whispered. 

An  overpowering  desire  to  take  her  in  his  arms  pos- 
sessed him,  he  looked  about  almost  desperately.  "  Let 
us  go  into  the  drawing-room.  I  must  see  you  alone." 

Nina  caught  his  hand  for  an  instant  and  pressed  it 
furtively.  "  No !  No !  "  she  whispered  again  —  "  not 
now,  later  perhaps,"  and  giving  him  again  that  be- 
witching smile,  she  jumped  up  and  walked  quickly 
toward  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

Richard  had  come  in  with  Mrs.  Martel  and  had  been 
presented  to  Mrs.  Aladine  and  three  other  persons 
had  also  arrived;  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vanderveer  and  Mr. 
Arthur  Vernay.  Mr.  Vanderveer's  chief  claim  to  dis- 
tinction, aside  from  being  very  rich,  was  the  fact  that 
he  had  been  educated  for  the  navy.  He  was  a  small 
timid  man,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  addressing  all  of 
his  conversation  to  his  wife,  a  magnificent,  placid, 
English  woman,  of  whom  he  was  very  jealous,  for  no 
reason  whatever.  Vernay,  a  bachelor  of  forty-five,  was 
one  of  those  refined  voluptuaries  who  have  existed  in 
all  ages.  His  face  wore  a  serene  but  empty  expression. 
His  profile  was  of  that  noble  cast  one  sees  on  Roman 
coins.  His  cheeks  were  those  of  a  gourmet,  slightly 
mottled  with  a  network  of  delicate  bluish  veins  and  he 
was  beginning  to  show  signs  of  approaching  baldness, 
which  he  endeavored  to  conceal  by  a  careful  arrange- 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 


73 


ment  of  his  fine  light  brown  hair.  He  gave  the  impres- 
sion of  one  who  had  always  slept  in  the  softest  beds, 
betv  ***f\  Mnnest  sheets,  drunk  the  choicest  wines, 
Q^rest  cigars,  eaten  the  richest  food  and 
>r*  ed  beneath  his  affable  exterior,  a  fixed 
er  to  do  anything  else. 
1  -  was  entertaining  Mr.  Bancroft  with 
accident  which  had  befallen  some 
they  could  get  to  her,  her  horse 
roken  both  her  legs.  One  never 
happening  in  England." 
Alartel  and  Richard  were  sitting 


.ias  just  been  telling  me  about  your 
«.s  a  pianist,"  Constance  said  to  Goef- 
.e  up  with  Nina,  "  but  we  can't  get  him 
jme  reason." 
in,  you  know,  is  extremely  temperamental," 

.f  raumerei,  Richard."  Nina  greeted  him  with 
a  smu  ind  held  out  her  hand. 

"And  do  you  remember  that?  "  Goeffrey  interposed. 
"  What  a  day  that  was.  You  remember  it,  Richard, 
don't  you?  " 

Richard  looked  mystified.  "  I  must  confess  that  I 
don't." 

"  I  only  remember  that  Richard  used  to  play 
Traumerei,  when  he  was  sentimental,"  said  Nina.  Goef- 
frey made  a  gesture  of  disappointment. 

"  So  you  have  both  forgotten  it.    I  suppose  I  remem- 


72  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

She  began  to  sway  slightly  to  the  music  whose  tempo 
she  had  again  increased  until  with  two  sharp  chords 
she  stopped,  raised  her  head  with  a  bewitching  smile 
and  looked  again  straight  into  his  eyes. 

"  It's  «  Yes,'  Goeffrey,"  she  whispered. 

An  overpowering  desire  to  take  her  in  his 
sessed  him,  he  looked  about  almost  despr  • 
us  go  into  the  drawing-room.     I  m 

Nina  caught  his  hand  for  an  im 
furtively.     "  No !  No !  "  she  whisj 
now,  later  perhaps,"   and   giving 
witching    smile,    she   jumped   up 
toward  the  other  end  of  the  room  f>^ 

Richard  had  come  in  with  Mrs 

^-^    TTr 

presented   to   Mrs.    Aladine   an*  L 

had  also  arrived;  a  Mr.  and  M:  *?. 

Arthur  Vernay.     Mr.  Vandervr 
tinction,  aside  from  being  verj 

he  had  been  educated  for  the  ,••  vas  a  small 

timid  man,  who  was  in  the  h  Dressing  all  of 

his  conversation  to  his  wife,  a  magnificent,  placid, 
English  woman,  of  whom  he  was  very  jealous,  for  no 
reason  whatever.  Vernay,  a  bachelor  of  forty-five,  was 
one  of  those  refined  voluptuaries  who  have  existed  in 
all  ages.  His  face  wore  a  serene  but  empty  expression. 
His  profile  was  of  that  noble  cast  one  sees  on  Roman 
coins.  His  cheeks  were  those  of  a  gourmet,  slightly 
mottled  with  a  network  of  delicate  bluish  veins  and  he 
was  beginning  to  show  signs  of  approaching  baldness, 
which  he  endeavored  to  conceal  by  a  careful  arrange- 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  73 

ment  of  his  fine  light  brown  hair.  He  gave  the  impres- 
sion of  one  who  had  always  slept  in  the  softest  beds, 
between  the  thinnest  sheets,  drunk  the  choicest  wines, 
smoked  the  rarest  cigars,  eaten  the  richest  food  and 
that  he  concealed  beneath  his  affable  exterior,  a  fixed 
determination  never  to  do  anything  else. 

Mrs.  Vanderveer  was  entertaining  Mr.  Bancroft  with 
an  account  of  an  accident  which  had  befallen  some 
friend.  "  But  before  they  could  get  to  her,  her  horse 
had  rolled  on  her  and  broken  both  her  legs.  One  never 
hears  of  such  things  happening  in  England." 

Constance,  Mrs.  Martel  and  Richard  were  sitting 
together. 

"  Mrs.  Martel  has  just  been  telling  me  about  your 
cousin's  ability  as  a  pianist,"  Constance  said  to  Goef- 
frey,  as  he  came  up  with  Nina,  "  but  we  can't  get  him 
to  play  for  some  reason." 

"  My  cousin,  you  know,  is  extremely  temperamental," 
said  Goeffrey. 

"  Play  Traumerei,  Richard."  Nina  greeted  him  with 
a  smile  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"And  do  you  remember  that?  "  Goeffrey  interposed. 
"  What  a  day  that  was.  You  remember  it,  Richard, 
don't  you?" 

Richard  looked  mystified.  "  I  must  confess  that  I 
don't." 

"  I  only  remember  that  Richard  used  to  play 
Traumerei,  when  he  was  sentimental,"  said  Nina.  Goef- 
frey made  a  gesture  of  disappointment. 

"  So  you  have  both  forgotten  it.    I  suppose  I  remem- 


74.  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

her  it,  because  all  of  my  surroundings  then  were  so  new 
and  delightful.  It  wasn't  much  though  in  itself,  just 
a  day  in  London.  I  had  come  from  Italy  to  visit 
Richard,  and  you,  Nina,  were  there  with  your  mother, 
en  route  to  Paris.  We  had  been  to  the  Drury  Lane  to 
see  the  pantomime  with  your  mother's  maid,  and  when 
we  came  back,  we  had  tea  with  your  mother  in  a  big, 
old  fashioned  parlor.  Such  delicious  tea,  with  such 
appetizing  English  bread  and  butter  and  such  heavenly 
jam,  and  after  Richard  and  I  had  eaten  a  shameful 
lot  of  everything,  your  mother  said :  '  Play  something, 
Richard,'  and  Richard  went  to  the  piano  (it  was  one 
of  the  old  fashioned  kind  with  candles  burning  in  scon- 
ces on  it)  and  played  Traumerei.  There  were  no  lights 
in  the  room,  except  the  candles  on  the  piano,  and  Nina 
and  her  mother,  and  I,  all  sat  by  the  fire  and  listened, 
and  as  I  looked  out  of  the  window  I  could  see  the 
trees  in  Hyde  Park  through  the  dusk.  Traumerei 
always  brings  that  back." 

"  I  should  say  that  you  were  temperamental,  Goef- 
frey,"  said  Richard,  who  had  been  watching  his  cous- 
in's expressive  face  and  nervous  gestures,  with  a  half 
amused  smile,  "  but  I  will  admit  that  my  playing  is 
very  much  influenced  by  my  surroundings.  If  I 
played  Traumerei,  it  was  probably  because  it  seemed 
to  me  to  be  the  thing  for  that  old  fashioned  parlor, 
the  candles,  the  firelight  and  all  that,  but  in  this 
wonderful  room  of  Mrs.  Aladine's,  for  the  moment 
nothing  comes  to  me  that  I  would  like  to  play  here, 
but  it  will,  it  always  does,  and  then  if  you  will  let 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  75 

turned  to  Constance,  "  I  will  come  and  play 

> 

/ernay  and  Mr.  Vanderveer,  were  standing 
listance,  talking  together  in  subdued  tones. 
xt  get  your  secretary,  sir,"  Jacob  said,  ap- 
>torey,  "  the  telephone  seems  not  to  be  work- 
y  —  it   is   the   storm." 
lind,"  Storey  answered,  and  then  as  a  new 
%*ed  the   room   and   greeted   Mrs.   Aladine, 
1,    "  Ah !    here    is    Martel !     What    news, 

ne  over  to  him  and  looked  toward  Nina 
•ring.  "  I  haven't  been  downtown,  but 
jmor  at  the  club  that  Davidge's  bank  is  in 

1's  husband  —  and  certain  people  always 
t,  when  speaking  of  him  —  was  rather  be- 
2fe  height,  with  the  broad  shoulders  and 
U  legs  of  an  athlete.  He  wore  a  short 
/ie  and  against  his  bronzed  skin  his  eyes 
/^'.•ly  blue.  He  gave  the  impression  of  one 
_.?  open,  in  the  free  air  of  the  sea  and  his 
of  a  sailor.  The  backs  of  his  brown 
were  covered  with  a  thick  growth  of 
.irs.  He  seemed  like  a  man  who  had 
v  nand,  but  one  with  rather  slow  wits,  and 
:'^*iries  of  worry  between  his  eyebrows  and  other 
fines  about  his  mouth  which  gave  him  a  bitter  expres- 
sion. 

Nina  in  response  to  a  mute  appeal  from  Goeffrey, 


74.  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

her  it,  because  all  of  my  surroundings  then  \,f 
and  delightful.     It  wasn't  much  though  in  :> 
a  day   in   London.     I  had   come   from   Ita 
Richard,  and  you,  Nina,  were  there  with  yc 
en  route  to  Paris.     We  had  been  to  the  Dru: 
see  the  pantomime  with  your  mother's  maid 
we  came  back,  we  had  tea  with  your  mothe 
old   fashioned  parlor.     Such   delicious   tea,  * 
appetizing  English  bread  and  butter  and  sue 
jam,  and  after  Richard  and  I  had  eaten  ,• 
lot  of  everything,  your  mother  said :  *  Play 
Richard,'  and  Richard  went  to  the  piano  ( 
of  the  old  fashioned  kind  with  candles  burnh 
ces  on  it)  and  played  Traumerei.     There  wei 
in  the  room,  except  the  candles  on  the  piano, 
and  her  mother,  and  I,  all  sat  by  the  fire  ar 
and   as  I  looked  out  of  the  window  I  cou 
trees   in   Hyde   Park   through   the  dusk, 
always  brings  that  back." 

"  I  should  say  that  you  were  temperamen 
frey,"  said  Richard,  who  had  been  watching 
in's  expressive  face  and  nervous  gestures,  v 
amused  smile,  "  but  I  will  admit  that  my 
very    much    influenced    by    my    surroundir 
played  Traumerei,  it  was  probably  because 
to  me  to  be  the  thing  for  that  old  fashion 
the   candles,    the   firelight    and    all    that,  but 
wonderful   room   of   Mrs.   Aladine's,    for  the   moment 
nothing  comes  to  me  that  I  would  like  to  play  here, 
but  it  will,  it  always  does,  and  then  if  you  will  let 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  75 

me  —  >J  he  turned  to  Constance,  "  I  will  come  and  play 
it  for  you." 

Storey,  Vernay  and  Mr.  Vanderveer,  were  standing 
at  a  little  distance,  talking  together  in  subdued  tones. 

"  I  cannot  get  your  secretary,  sir,"  Jacob  said,  ap- 
proaching Storey,  "  the  telephone  seems  not  to  be  work- 
ing properly  —  it  is  the  storm." 

"  Never  mind,"  Storey  answered,  and  then  as  a  new 
arrival  entered  the  room  and  greeted  Mrs.  Aladine, 
he  exclaimed,  "  Ah !  here  is  Martel !  What  news, 
Charles?" 

Martel  came  over  to  him  and  looked  toward  Nina 
before  answering.  "  I  haven't  been  downtown,  but 
there  was  a  rumor  at  the  club  that  Davidge's  bank  is  in 
trouble." 

Mrs.  Martel's  husband  —  and  certain  people  always 
called  him  that,  when  speaking  of  him  —  was  rather  be- 
low the  average  height,  with  the  broad  shoulders  and 
slightly  bowed  legs  of  an  athlete.  He  wore  a  short 
blond  mustache  and  against  his  bronzed  skin  his  eyes 
looked  intensely  blue.  He  gave  the  impression  of  one 
who  lived  in  the  open,  in  the  free  air  of  the  sea  and  his 
gait  was  that  of  a  sailor.  The  backs  of  his  brown 
muscular  hands  were  covered  with  a  thick  growth  of 
short  blond  hairs.  He  seemed  like  a  man  who  had 
himself  well  in  hand,  but  one  with  rather  slow  wits,  and 
there  were  lines  of  worry  between  his  eyebrows  and  other 
lines  about  his  mouth  which  gave  him  a  bitter  expres- 
sion. 

Nina  in  response  to  a  mute  appeal  from  Goeffrey, 


76  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

had  slowly  moved  toward  the  other  end  of  the  room 
again,  and  they  sat  down  on  one  of  the  velvet  cov- 
ered benches  which  stood  in  the  recesses  of  the  windows. 

"And  so  Richard  used  to  be  sentimental  and  play 
Traumerei  to  you,"  began  Goeff rey.  "  Did  he  make 
love  to  you  ?  " 

Nina  laughed.  "We  were  children,  you  remember. 
Are  you  jealous  already?  But  as  to  making  love, 
Richard  makes  love  to  everybody,  that's  his  specialty." 
She  paused  for  a  moment  — "  Constance  will  be  the 
next." 

"  Nina !  "  Goeffrey  was  horrified.  "  He  isn't  good 
enough  for  her." 

"  I  didn't  say  that  he  would  marry  her,  but  he'll 
try." 

"  I  shall  dislike  Richard  before  very  long,  if  I  don't 
look  out." 

"Why  should  you?  He  has  got  to  marry  someone 
with  money.  We  agreed  on  that  point.  He  must,  don't 
you  understand,  and  you  don't  think  for  a  moment  that 
Constance  is  always  going  to  stay  a  widow?  Mr. 
Storey  would  like  to  marry  her." 

"  That  monster.     Did  she  tell  you?  " 

"  There  probably  isn't  anything  to  tell,  but  anyone 
can  see  that  he  is  in  love  with  her,  and  I  don't  think 
you  ought  to  call  him  a  monster." 

"  I  know  that  was  a  beastly  thing  to  say,  because  I 
like  him  immensely,  but  the  thought  of  her  marrying 
him  is  terrible,  somehow.  She  is  so  beautiful  and  — 
and  so  delicate." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  77 

"  I  don't  think  that  she  will  marry  him.  I  don't 
think  she  could;  but  she  will  marry  someone,  she's 
lonely  you  know.  I  hope  she  gets  the  right  sort  of 
man ;  but  I  shall  always  feel  afraid  for  Constance,  she's 
too  sympathetic;  she  lets  her  feelings  carry  her  away 
against  her  judgment." 

Nina  had  glanced  out  of  the  window.  "  Here  comes 
Mr.  Pandolfi,"  she  said,  "  he's  so  tiresome,  he's  always 
calling  on  one.  Will  you  get  me  a  cup  of  tea?  Hurry, 
there's  a  dear,  and  get  back  before  he  comes  in.  Per- 
haps he  won't  see  us." 

Goeff rey  was  completely  happy,  the  things  which  had 
been  lacking  in  his  life  had  found  their  way  into  it 
very  quickly  and  wonderfully.  He  was  conscious  of 
an  extraordinary  sense  of  well  being,  which  seemed  to 
fill,  not  only  his  mind  and  his  soul,  but  his  body  as  well. 
Why  had  he  put  off  for  so  long  taking  the  necessary 
steps  to  satisfy  that  craving  for  sympathy  and  af- 
fection which  all  men  feel. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vanderveer  were  saying  good-by  to 
Constance,  and  everybody  had  stood  up.  Mr.  Ban- 
croft lingered  by  the  tea  table.  Storey,  Vernay  and 
Martel  were  still  standing  at  a  little  distance  and 
Mrs.  Martel  and  Richard  were  exchanging  a  few  words 
in  an  undertone. 

Suddenly  Pandolfi  hurried  into  the  room.  He  was 
tall  and  well  built,  slightly  inclined  to  stoutness,  with 
black  wavy  hair  closely  cut.  He  wore  a  small  black 
mustache  which  was  waxed  at  the  ends  and  his  eyes 
were  large,  dark  and  very  handsome.  He  came  in 


78  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

quickly,  clearly  under  the  influence  of  some  excitement, 
and  waving  his  hat  and  stick  which  he  carried  in  one 
hand,  around  his  head,  he  cried: 

"  Davidge  has  absconded,  the  examiners  have  taken 
possession,  they  say  that  his  bank  is  absolutely  cleaned 
out.  There'll  be  the  devil  to  pay  to-morrow." 

Alarm  was  depicted  on  the  faces  around  him. 

"  Shut  up,  you  fool,"'  cried  Goeffrey  furiously,  turn- 
ing so  quickly  that  Mr.  Bancroft  seized  the  tea  pot  — 
"  don't  you  see  that  Nina  is  here?  " 

All  turned  and  looked  at  her.  She  was  coming 
toward  them  from  the  other  end  of  the  room,  walking 
slowly  and  in  a  dazed  way,  as  if  she  had  received  a 
blow  which  had  paralyzed  her  mental  faculties.  For  a 
moment  they  stood  spell-bound,  watching  her  curious 
slow  somnambulistic  progress  toward  them,  and  then 
Goeffrey  and  Constance  ran  toward  her. 

"  Oh !  Nina,  Nina !  "  was  all  that  Goeffrey  could  say, 
but  Constance,  putting  her  arm  around  her,  led  her  out 
of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Martel  went  up  to  her  husband,  who  happened 
to  be  standing  alone.  "  I  am  going  now,  shall  I  take 
you  home  ?  "  She  spoke  in  a  voice  so  low  that  the 
others  could  not  hear  her,  with  a  curious  expression 
of  mingled  defiance,  fear  and  supplication  on  her  beauti- 
ful face.  Martel  looked  at  her,  once,  with  his  intensely 
blue  eyes,  an  inexplicable  look,  and  turning,  joined  the 
others  without  answering  her. 

Constance  came  into  the  room  again  and  hurried 
to  Storey's  side. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  79 

"  She  insists  on  going  home,  but  do  you  think  that 
she  ought  to  ?  " 

"  She  must  not  think  of  it,  the  house  will  be  be- 
sieged by  the  reporters  and  probably  the  police. 
Could  you  keep  the  children  and  her  aunt  over  night?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  telling  her  so." 

"  Very  well,  then,  I  will  go  there  and  tell  them  to 
come.  To-morrow  we  can  see  what  to  do.  But  tell 
her  that  I  say  positively  that  she  must  stay  here." 
Storey  turned  toward  the  door. 

"  I  think  I  will  go  with  you,  Storey,"  said  Martel. 

"  Good,"  answered  the  latter,  and  they  went  out 
together. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN  Goeffrey  came  back  to  the  library  a  little  later, 
Mrs.  Aladine  had  taken  Nina  upstairs  with  her  and  told 
him  that  he  might  come  again  in  the  morning,  he  found 
it  deserted.  Although  he  knew  that  it  was  quite  prob- 
able that  his  own  affairs  would  be  seriously,  perhaps 
disastrously,  affected  by  Davidge's  failure,  the  catas- 
trophe which  had  overtaken  Nina  seemed  so  much  more 
appalling,  that  he  hardly  thought  of  them,  but  he 
wondered  what  Richard  would  say  and  he  felt  sure 
that  it  would  be  a  harder  blow  for  his  cousin,  than  for 
himself.  He  looked  at  his  watch ;  it  was  seven  o'clock. 
He  had  left  Mrs.  Aladine's  house  and  was  walking  down 
the  Avenue.  Before  him  lay  the  open  space  at  the  en- 
trance to  the  park.  To  the  right  he  could  see  through 
the  trees,  a  gigantic  hotel  rising  story  on  story,  its 
white  walls  dotted  with  lights  shining  from  innumer- 
able windows.  On  the  opposite  side,  others  scarcely 
less  lofty  towered  before  him,  and  between  them,  like 
a  river  opening  between  cliffs,  Fifth  Avenue  discharged 
into  the  plaza  before  it,  its  torrent  of  moving  lamps, 
yellow  and  silver,  the  dark  vehicles  which  bore  them  and 
the  current  of  people  on  the  sidewalks. 

He  heard  someone  calling  him,  and  turning  saw 
Pandolfi  hurrying  after  him. 

"  Look  here,  Hunter ! "  he  exclaimed  in  an  angry 
80 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  81 

tone,  as  he  came  up.  "  At  Mrs.  Aladine's  just  now,  you 
spoke  to  me  in  a  way  I  didn't  like,  and  I  want  to  know 
what  the  devil  you  meant  by  it.  What  the  devil  do 
you  mean  by  speaking  to  me  in  that  way  ?  " 

"  Was  I  rude?  "  said  Goeffrey.  "  I  don't  remember 
what  I  said,  but  I'm  awfully  sorry.  You  see  I  knew 
it  would  be  a  most  awful  blow  for  Nina,  and  I  was  in 
hopes  that  she  might  not  have  heard  you,  and  I  wanted 
to  stop  you  from  saying  anything  more  — " 

"  Well,  you  don't  suppose  that  I  am  any  more  anx- 
ious to  hurt  her  feelings  than  you  are,  do  you?  And 
besides  I  don't  see  any  reason  why  you  should  appoint 
yourself  her  special  protector  — " 

Pandolfi's  manner  was  such  that  Goeffrey  was  begin- 
ning to  lose  his  temper  too. 

"  You  don't?  "  he  asked.  "  Well,  there's  a  very  good 
reason." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  It's  none  of  your  business,  but  I  don't  mind  tell- 
ing you  that  we're  engaged." 

Pandolfi  came  to  a  standstill,  looked  at  Goeffrey  and 
laughed;  a  short,  politely  insolent  laugh,  then  he 
walked  on  again. 

Goeffrey  was  so  exasperated  that  he  became  personal. 

"  Look  here,  Pandolfi,  I  wish  you  would  get  over  that 
beastly  Italian  habit  of  yours,  of  coming  to  a  dead  stop 
when  you  are  walking  with  anyone,  it's  so  disconcert- 
ing." 

This  reference  to  a  racial  trait  which  he  had  often 
tried  to  break  himself  of,  seemed  to  infuriate  Pandolfi, 


83  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

and  for  a  moment,  like  some  beast  seen  in  concealment, 
the  cruel  Neapolitan  nature  which  was  always  slumber- 
ing beneath  the  surface,  showed  itself  in  his  face. 

"  So  you  don't  like  my  habits,  my  Italian  habits,"  he 
answered  slowly  and  with  a  menacing  tone  in  his  voice. 
"  Very  well,  let  me  tell  you  that  no  one  will  care  now 
what  you  like  or  what  you  don't  like  —  do  you  know 
why?  Because  you  are  nothing,  you  are  a  pau- 
per." 

"  Good  God,"  said  Goeffrey,  "  that's  a  new  point  of 
view.  I  am  nothing,  because  I  have  no  money  —  I 
have  money,  therefore  I  am;  a  stock  broker's  version 
of  Descartes;  but  just  let  my  affairs  alone,  will  you? 
They  don't  concern  you,  and  I  don't  see  how  you  should 
know  anything  about  them  anyway." 

Suddenly  he  thought  of  what  Doris  had  said  —  her 
apprehensions. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  my  affairs,  by  the  way. 
What  business  is  it  of  yours  ?  "  he  replied,  looking  at 
Pandolfi  suspiciously. 

Pandolfi's  manner  changed  quickly  for  some  reason; 
the  cruel  expression  disappeared. 

"  Excuse  me,  Hunter,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  almost 
exaggerated  friendliness,  "  I  ought  not  to  have  said  that. 
I  only  repeated  what  I  have  heard,  that  Davidge  had 
lost  his  own  and  everybody's  money  he  had  anything 
to  do  with  —  and  as  to  your  engagement,  let  me  offer 
you  my  heartiest  congratulations." 

Pandolfi  had  stopped,  intending  evidently  to  turn  off 
the  Avenue,  and  Goeffrey,  who  always  found  it  difficult 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  83 

to  harbor  ill  will  against  anyone,  held  out  his  hand 
saying : 

"  Thank  you,  Pandolfi  —  and  I  am  sorry  for  what 
I  said  to." 

"  That's  all  right  then  —  I  shall  leave  you  here,  but 
I  shall  see  you  to-night  of  course." 

Goeffrey  wondered  why  he  should  see  Pandolfi  again 
that  night,  and  the  latter's  meaning  was  not  made  plain 
to  him  until  he  reached  his  rooms. 

A  table  laid  for  ten  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  parlor. 
A  cloth  of  crimson  silk  covered  it,  and  a  mass  of  yellow 
tulips  rose  from  a  large  bowl  of  Chinese  porcelain 
which  stood  in  the  center.  Other  tulips  lying  on  the 
cloth  traced  a  fantastic  pattern,  and  still  others  filled 
every  available  receptacle.  The  effect  against  the  dark 
back-ground  of  the  room,  and  Goeffrey's  really 
beautiful  furniture,  proved  to  be  as  Waters  had 
predicted,  most  pleasing  —  but  Goeffrey  was  thunder- 
struck. 

He  had  forgotten  his  party  completely. 

"  You  never  told  me  about  it,"  said  Richard  reproach- 
fully. He  had  come  in  a  few  minutes  earlier.  "  I  had 
no  idea  Waters  had  such  a  coquettish  taste." 

"  Here's  a  situation  that  would  please  a  playwright," 
answered  Goeffrey,  looking  about  him  in  dismay.  "  On 
a  certain  day  I  am  engaged  to  be  married  —  a  little 
later  I  hear  that  I  have  lost  my  money,  and  in  the 
evening  I  give  a  supper  to  some  of  my  friends  of  the 
theater.  But  I  mustn't  do  it  —  I  must  stop  it  some- 
how," 


84  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Richard  seemed  not  to  have  heard  what  Goeffrey 
had  said  of  his  engagement,  but  was  looking  at  him  with 
a  startled  expression  on  his  face. 

"That  you  have  lost  your  money?"  —  his  tone  was 
half  incredulous,  —  "how  could  you  lose  it?" 

"  You  knew,  didn't  you,  that  Mr.  Davidge  had  charge 
of  my  property  ?  " 

"  If  I  ever  knew  it,  I  had  forgotten,"  Richard  an- 
swered. "  It  never  occurred  to  me  that  his  failure  could 
affect  you  in  any  sort  of  way." 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  true,  Richard.  Pandolfi  was  kind 
enough  just  now;  to  tell  me  that  I  was  a  pauper  —  and 
so  I  am,  I'm  afraid,  almost  at  least.  We  are  in  the 
same  boat,  Richard."  He  was  smiling  quite  cheerfully 
as  he  spoke. 

"  JBut  what  are  we  going  to  do?  "  Richard  demanded. 
He  seemed  exasperated  by  Goeffrey's  manner  and 
spoke  in  an  iritated  tone,  as  if  he  considered  it  to  be 
his  cousin's  fault.  "  How  can  you  smile  like  that  after 
what  has  happened?" 

"  We  are  going  to  make  money  again  now  that  we 
have  lost  it,"  Goeffrey  answered,  still  with  the  same 
air  of  composure. 

Richard  got  up  and  began  to  pace  the  floor;  his  ex- 
asperation increasing.  "  Well,  really,  Goeffrey,"  he 
said  bitterly,  "  you  can't  make  money,  I  can't  make  it. 
It  is  utter,  absolute,  silly  rot  to  talk  like  that.  Aren't 
you  going  to  do  anything,  see  your  lawyer,  do  some- 
thing, take  some  step  to  protect  yourself  if  you  can? 
You  knew  what  it  might  mean  when  you  heard  of 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  85 

Davidge's  failure  this  afternoon,  have  you  done  noth- 
ing?" 

"  To-night,  of  course  not  - —  in  the  morning  I  shall, 
but  it  will  be  no  use  I  tell  you,  I  know  it.  You  heard 
Pandolfi  say  that  the  bank  is  absolutely  cleaned 
out." 

"  Well,  God  help  us  both,"  cried  Richard,  with  de- 
spair and  anger  in  his  voice.  *'  God  pity  us,  that's  all 
/  can  say." 

"  Nina  said  to-day  that  she  would  marry  me,"  Goef- 
frey  went  on  after  a  moment,  "  and  it  is  more  than 
likely  that  her  father's  failure  will  leave  her  as  destitute 
as  it  does  me.  Do  you  suppose,  knowing  that,  that 
I  have  time  to  think  about  my  own  troubles?  Know- 
ing what  hers  are?  Do  you  suppose  that  I  have  time 
for  anything  now  except  to  think  how  I  can  best  earn 
money  to  take  care  of  her?  And  isn't  there  something 
well  worth  while  about  it  too,  if  I  can  say  to  myself  — 
here  I've  got  this  thing  to  do  and  I'm  going  to  do  it?  " 

Richard  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  in  which 
pity  and  contempt  were  mingled.  "  My  dear  Goef- 
frey,"  he  said,  "  you're  a  fool." 

"  Am  I?  "  replied  Goeffrey,  "  perhaps !  But  let  me  tell 
you  one  thing.  You  said  the  other  day  that  to  people 
like  you  and  me,  money  is  necessary  —  I  say  it  isn't  - — 
I  say  in  spite  of  the  probability  of  my  having  lost 
everything,  I've  never  been  so  happy  as  I  am  to-night 
—  never  looked  at  life  so  courageously,  never  knew  what 
it  was  to  understand  that  life  could  have  a  special 
meaning.  And  if  someone  had  told  me  that  it  would, 


86  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

cost  me  every  penny  to  feel  as  I  do  now,  to  realize  what 
life  really  means,  I  would  have  given  it  — 

Richard  had  lighted  a  cigarette  and  thrown  himself 
sullenly  on  a  sofa. 

"  I'll  give  you  six  months,"  he  said  at  last,  "  and  in 
the  mean  time  what  am  I  to  do?  Life  has  developed  no 
new  meaning  for  me.  To  me  it  means  one  thing  — 
life." 

"  I'm  sorry,  Richard,  much  more  sorry  for  you  than 
for  myself,  but  listen  —  I  have  some  money  in  my  bank 
—  I  haven't  always  spent  everything,  and  there's  about 
thirty  thousand  dollars  there,  I  should  think.  I'll  give 
you  half.  Is  that  a  bargain?  And  with  that  we'll 
start  again  —  by  the  way,  what  time  is  it?  "  He  too 
took  out  his  watch  and  consulting  it,  looked  at  Richard 
in  consternation.  "  It's  quarter  past  eight  —  I  can't 
have  them  to-night,  Dick,  it  doesn't  seem  right  some- 
how —  to-night  — " 

"  Can  you  get  word  to  them  now  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  to  find  the  men,  I  might  get  the 
women  at  their  theaters." 

"  Then  why  stop  it,"  said  Richard,  "  it's  your  last 
night." 

Goeffrey  was  silent1 — yes,  this  was  his  last  night, 
his  old  life  was  over  —  a  feeling  almost  of  regret  as- 
sailed him  for  a  moment  —  what  harm  to  have  them. 
They  had  been  friends  in  their  way.  They  had  had 
many  pleasant  evenings  together.  Would  it  be  decent 
for  him  to  tell  them  not  to  come  at  the  last  moment, 
when  he  intended  not  to  see  them  again?  What  harm 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  87 

to  have  them  for  the  last  time?  And  Doris  —  she  had 
promised  to  come  —  must  he  not  see  her  any  more 
either?  —  he  half  sighed  —  he  supposed  not  —  poor 
little  Doris,  but  just  once  at  least  to  put  himself  straight 
with  her.  He  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"  All  right,  Dick,  we'll  have  them,  it's  for  the  last 
time,  and  now  dress,  dress  quickly  —  we  will  dine  some- 
where together.  We  are  all  to  meet  at  Davenport's 
after  the  theaters  are  out  and  come  here  later." 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  the  meantime  Storey  and  Martel  in  the  former's  car 
had  gone  straight  to  Davidge's  house.  A  group  of  re- 
porters stood  on  the  pavement  and  an  officer  coming  out 
of  the  door,  touched  his  hat  to  Storey  as  he  ascended 
the  steps.  Martel  remained  in  the  car. 

Inside,  the  atmosphere  of  the  house  seemed  to  reflect 
the  ruin  that  had  befallen  it,  although  nothing  was 
changed.  A  dubious  dejection  reigned,  mournful  and 
at  the  same  time  ominous.  An  old  housekeeper  came  in 
and  announced  that  Miss  Mary  Davidge  was  prostrated 
by  the  news  and  could  see  no  one,  but  on  Storey's  stating 
his  message,  she  disappeared,  returning  to  say  that  Miss 
Davidge  would  try  to  go  later. 

"  But  that  is  most  indefinite,"  Storey  answered.  "  I 
am  going  back  to  Mrs.  Aladine's  at  once.  Ask  Miss 
Davidge  to  say  when  Miss  Nina  may  expect  her." 

"  Miss  Davidge  says  that  she  will  get  up  as  soon  as 
she  can,"  the  housekeeper  reported  after  a  considerable 
delay. 

"  Is  she  ill  ?  "  Storey  demanded  with  a  gesture  of  im- 
patience. 

"  No,  sir,  but  she  is  in  bed  and  her  door  is  locked." 

"  But  the  children  shouldn't  be  left  here,  where  are 
they?" 

"  In  the  nursery,  sir." 

88 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  89 

"  Get  them  at  once,  I  will  take  them  with  me." 

Madeline  and  Humphrey  came  in  after  further  delay, 
dressed  for  the  street,  looking  scared  and  mystified. 
They  realized  that  something  dreadful  had  happened 
but  what  it  was  they  could  not  understand.  One  of 
those  things  which  happen  to  grown  people,  which  is 
beyond  their  range  of  experience,  which  they  accept 
without  question  and  soon  forget. 

Children  with  their  instinctive  knowledge  of  the  es- 
sential things  in  the  characters  of  others,  are  curiously 
indifferent  to  physical  ugliness.  That  is  unessential  to 
them.  They  go  deeper.  And  Storey  had  always  been 
a  favorite  with  them. 

"  Come  along,"  he  said  in  his  strong  voice,  "  we  are 
going  to  see  your  sister,"  and  smiling  trustfully,  they 
got  into  the  car. 

"  Tell  Miss  Davidge,"  he  said  to  the  servant,  "  that 
I  have  taken  the  children  to  Mrs.  Aladine's,"  and  as 
they  moved  off  he  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh.  "  She 
will  not  stay  there  now,"  he  added,  "  alone  with  the 
servants." 

"  Will  you  come  home  with  me  for  a  few  minutes," 
Martel  said  after  they  had  left  Mrs.  Aladine's  again. 
"  I  should  like  to  ask  you  something."  Upon  reaching 
his  house,  he  assisted  Storey  from  the  car  and  preceding 
him  up  the  steps,  ushered  him  into  the  hall.  A  large 
old  fashioned  room  paved  with  squares  of  black  and  white 
marble. 

A  sound  of  weeping  was  heard  as  they  entered  —  Lu- 
cus,  Martel's  little  boy,  five  years  old,  stood  sobbing 


90  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

dismally,  while  his  sister,  two  years  older,  seemed  to 
be  searching  his  pockets. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Storey  going  up  to 
them. 

Lucus  stopped  suddenly,  staring  with  open  mouth 
as  if  in  wonder  at  such  a  huge  man,  but  Helen  knew 
Storey  well  and  smiling  up  at  him,  her  short  skirts 
swaying  to  and  fro,  she  answered  in  a  shrill  voice : 

"  I  was  looking  for  his  pocket  handkerchief  —  he 
won't  wipe  his  nose  and  nurse  says  that's  a  nasty 
trick." 

Storey  laughed  heartily.  "  Perhaps  he  hasn't  one," 
he  said,  drawing  a  silver  dollar  from  his  pocket,  "  so 
here  is  something  to  buy  one  with." 

"  I  have  many  pocket  handkerchiefs,"  Lucus  an- 
swered in  a  loud  distinct  voice. 

"  Then  you  may  buy  anything  you  like  with  it." 

Lucus  stood  smiling,  first  at  the  dollar  and  then  at 
Storey,  until  suddenly  he  turned  and  shouting  something 
excitedly,  he  began  running  round  and  round  the  hall, 
his  sister  close  at  his  heels,  both  seemingly  engaged  in 
the  performance  of  some  game  intelligible  only  to  them- 
selves. Their  cries  and  the  clattering  of  their  shoes 
on  the  marble  floor,  made  a  deafening  racket. 

"Where  is  Therese?"  Martel  demanded  irritably  of 
the  English  servant  who  had  opened  the  door  for  them. 
"  They  should  not  be  allowed  to  make  such  a  noise 
downstairs,  take  them  to  the  nursery  at  once,  it's  time 
they  were  in  bed,"  and  turning  quickly  he  led  the  way 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  91 

into  his  study,  pausing  however  to  say  "  Bring  scotch 
and  cigars." 

Storey  sat  down  in  a  large  easy  chair  and  waited. 

Martel  paced  restlessly  up  and  down,  avoiding  his 
eye. 

The  servant  appeared. 

"Has  Mrs.  Martel  come  in?" 

"  Not  yet,  sir." 

Martel  opened  the  box  of  cigars. 

"  Not  these !  not  these,"  he  exclaimed  in  the  same  ir- 
ritable manner,  "  the  perf ectos,  you  know  the  kind  I 
smoke." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  answered  the  servant,  "  I  will  fetch 
them  directly." 

When  he  had  finally  gone,  closing  the  door  after  him, 
Martel  filled  the  glasses,  gave  one  to  Storey,  provided 
him  with  a  cigar,  lighted  his  own  which  he  put  down 
at  once  and  did  not  take  up  again,  and  then  looking  him 
squarely  in  the  face,  with  his  intensely  blue  eyes,  he  said 
almost  harshly: 

"  Vincent,  I  need  money." 

"How  much?" 

"  Two  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

Storey  gave  him  a  quick  searching  look  and  re- 
mained silent. 

"  Yes,  I  could  let  you  have  it,"  he  said  finally,  "  but 
let  me  ask  you  — " 

Martel  held  up  his  hand  as  if  to  stop  him. 

"  No,  that  isn't  what  I  mean,"  he  said.     "  I  want  to 


92  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

sell  some  of  my  securities,  I  have  no  intention  of  bor- 
rowing." 

"  Let  me  ask  you,  Charles/'  Storey  repeated,  "  have 
you  been  speculating?  " 

"I?"  answered  Martel,  looking  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  This  is  not  then  to  provide  for  some  unexpected  de- 
mand —  some  loss  ?  " 

"  I  have  run  behind,"  answered  Martel,  "  that's  all. 
I  have  been  running  behind  for  years,  living  beyond  my 
means." 

"  Now  listen,"  said  Storey.  "  Davidge's  failure  may 
be  only  the  beginning  of  trouble,  you  may  not  be  able  to 
sell  your  securities  without  sacrificing  them,  give  them 
to  me  as  collateral  and  let  me  lend  it  to  you.  You  have 
never  been  in  business,  you  know  nothing  about  mak- 
ing money,  therefore  hold  to  what  you  have.  Your 
money  is  well  invested,  don't  touch  it.  Once  begin  en- 
croaching on  your  capital,  and  God  knows  where  you 
will  end.  Let  me  lend  it  to  you.  From  time  to  time, 
as  you  feel  able,  you  can  pay  it  back." 

Martel  remained  for  a  moment  looking  mournfully 
at  the  floor.  "  No,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  would  never 
be  able  to." 

"  But  you  have  sixty  thousand  a  year  —  go  abroad 
for  five  years,  let  both  your  houses,  sell  the  '  Phryne,' '• 
said  Storey,  referring  to  a  schooner  yacht,  the  apple 
of  Martel's  eye. 

61 1  sold  her  six  months  ago,"  answered  Martel. 
"  You  know  my  wife  hates  the  water." 

He  sat  silent  again,  still  looking  at  the  floor. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  93 

"  No,"  he  repeated  at  last,  as  if  to  himself.  "  I 
should  never  be  able  to." 

Suddenly  he  rose  to  his  feet,  an  expression  of  fury 
distorted  his  features.  "  Yes !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  it  is 
as  you  say,  God  knows  where  it  will  end.  All!  all  will 
go,  fortune,  name,  everything,  all,  all !  "  Then  looking 
quickly  at  Storey  as  if  surprised  at  his  own  intensity, 
he  sat  down  and  said  in  a  calm  voice :  "  Vincent,  I  am 
going  to  confide  to  you,  something  I  have  told  no  liv- 
ing soul  —  I  feel  that  I  must  —  the  thought  of  it  is 
with  me  night  and  day  —  I  must  tell  you." 

He  rose  again,  went  to  the  door,  looked  out,  closed 
and  locked  it.  When  he  resumed  his  seat,  Storey  saw 
that  his  face  now  wore  a  look  of  agony,  as  if  he  were 
dwelling  on  memories  intolerably  painful  to  him.  He 
drew  a  deep  breath  and  Storey  could  see  that  his  muscu- 
lar hands  were  gripping  the  arms  of  his  chair  tightly. 

"  All  men,  Vincent,"  he  said  at  last,  "  marry  for  one 
reason,  the  wish  for  physical  possession.  They  would 
not  admit  this  to  you  —  sometimes  they  do  not  even 
know  it,  but  it  is  true,  and  it  was  for  this  that  I  too 
married  —  and  7  did  not  know.  You  remember  her, 
you  know  how  beautiful  she  is,  and  how  much  more 
beautiful  she  was  then?  The  idea  of  possessing  her, 
filled  me  with  feelings  of  awe,  of  tenderness.  Often 
when  thinking  of  the  inscrutable  ways  of  God,  in  giv- 
ing me  a  wife  so  beautiful,  so  good,  so  beautiful,  so 
perfect,  so  beautiful,  always  beautiful  you  see,  I  prayed 
that  I  might  be  in  a  measure  worthy  of  her  —  because 
—  she  was  beautiful." 


94  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Martel  paused  again,  breathed  deeply  and  went  on. 
"  But  while  satiety,  weariness  or  indifference  follow  most 
marriages,  love  followed  mine  —  on  my  part  —  No  1 
men  do  not  marry  for  love.  They  marry  because  their 
wives  seem  beautiful  to  them  —  they  learn  to  love  — 
or  to  hate  —  afterwards  —  I  learned  to  love,  at  first  — 

"  Well,  we  married  and  I  took  her  abroad.  Her 
father,  who  had  been  a  physician  with  a  small  practice, 
had  found  it  difficult  even  to  give  her  an  education  such 
as  he  wished,  and  she  had,  up  to  this  time,  seen  nothing 
of  life,  knew  nothing  of  it,  and  it  pleased  me  to  show 
it  to  her." 

A  nervous  smile  distorted  his  lips.  He  got  up, 
walked  the  length  of  the  room  and  back,  and  resuming 
his  seat,  went  on : 

"  She  was  mine  you  see  —  and  she  had  been  poor  — 
I  would  shower  money  on  her  —  be  her  Maecenas,  teach 
her  how  people  with  money  live  —  How  well  my  beauty 
learned  her  lesson !  " 

Storey  was  amazed  as  he  listened.  Martel,  a  man 
of  few  words,  and  with  no  gift  of  language,  was  ex- 
pressing himself  with  a  lucidity,  an  ease  which  he  could 
not  have  given  him  credit  for  —  it  seemed  as  if  in 
brooding  over  his  troubles,  he  had  acquired  a  vocabu- 
lary wherewith  to  give  expression  to  them. 

"  But  I  was  content  at  first.  Proud  of  the  man- 
ners and  graces  of  the  world  which  she  acquired  so 
easily  —  of  her  beauty  which  attracted  notice  —  be- 
cause I  possessed  it  —  proud  of  her  faculty  in  learning 
the  lesson  it  had  pleased  me  to  teach,  the  lesson  of  life 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  95 

as  we  know  it,  until  finally  I  realized  that  she  had  de- 
veloped an  appetite  for  it,  without  restraint,  without 
moderation,  voracious  of  pleasure,  insatiable.  That 
is  why  I  need  money,  Storey,  my  debts  are  pressing  — 

Martel  stopped  and  there  was  a  long  silence,  but 
Storey  felt  that  he  had  not  finished.  At  length  he  be- 
gan again. 

"  I  remonstrated  with  her  and  we  quarreled,  the 
first  of  many.  We  grew  farther  and  farther  apart  and 
then  —  a  certain  man  came  — " 

He  drew  one  of  those  deep  labored  breaths  and  his 
face  assumed  again  that  look  of  suffering  which  Storey] 
had  noticed  before. 

"  A  certain  man  came ;  and  I  forgave  her."  He 
stopped  again  and  looked  at  Storey  for  the  first  time 
since  he  had  begun  speaking.  "  Forgive  me,"  he  said, 
"  for  talking  so  long  —  but  it  is  hard,  hard  to  tell." 

Storey  made  a  gesture  of  assent. 

"  I  forgave  her,"  he  repeated  in  the  same  mournful 
voice,  "  on  certain  conditions.  This  man  was  to  be  dis- 
missed absolutely  and  completely  —  and  I  demanded 
of  her  a  circumspection  of  conduct  which  she  must  fol- 
low unwaveringly.  She  promised.  She  was  frightened 
and  sincerely  remorseful,  I  think,  but  whether  she  has 
kept  her  promise,  I  do  not  know.  I  did  not  want  to 
know  and  yet  —  I  wanted  to  —  I  was  afraid  to  know 
and  yet  —  I  doubted.  What  an  intolerable  situation, 
and  in  all  these  years,  I  have  never  known,  would  never 
try  to  know,  because  I  was  afraid  —  afraid  that  I  could 
not  stand  the  knowledge  of  a  second  —  a  second  — 


96  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Martel  could  not  go  on. 

"  To-day,  I  was  crossing  Fifth  Avenue,  when  she 
passed  me  in  her  car,  and  with  her  was  the  man  she 
had  promised  never  to  see.  Neither  noticed  me.  What 
caused  me  to  go  to  Mrs.  Aladine's,  I  cannot  tell,  but 
I  went,  and  they  were  there.  There  are  to  be  reprisals 
now.  She  has  broken  her  promise  and  she  shall  pay 
if  I  can  make  her,  to  the  uttermost  farthing.  She  shall 
not  have  one  penny  of  my  money,  if  I  can  prevent  it, 
nor  the  children.  Will  you  help  me,  Storey?  Just 
what  I  intend  to  do,  I  cannot  tell  yet,  but  she  would 
like  my  money  and  she  shall  not  get  it,  she  would  like 
my  children  and  she  shall  not  have  them.  Will  you 
try  to  keep  her  from  them  if  I  show  you  good  reasons 
why  she  should  not  have  them?" 

"Will /try?" 

"  I  mean  that  life  is  so  uncertain.  If  I  should  give 
you  reasons  —  good  reasons,  for  doing  so,  would  you 
carry  out  my  wishes  if  I  should  not  be  here?  " 

Storey,  man  of  many  responsibilities,  hesitated. 

"  I  would  do  what  I  could,  Charles,"  he  answered  at 
length. 

Martel  held  out  his  hand — a  weight  seemed  to  have 
been  lifted  from  his  mind.  He  knew  that  that  answer 
of  Storey's  meant  much. 

"  Thank  you,  Vincent,"  he  said  simply. 

Then  he  did  an  unwonted  thing,  he  smiled  —  the 
bitter  lines  about  his  mouth  disappeared  and  Storey 
saw  that  he  was  looking  at  a  different  man;  a  man 
with  a  very  sweet,  honest  and  simple  nature. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DAVIDGE,  until  five  years  before,  had  been  a  man  of  de- 
pendable and  honest  qualities.  He  was  typical  of  that 
solid  but  unimaginative  class  who  are  scrupulously  or- 
derly in  their  dealings  with  themselves  and  others.  He 
read  nothing  but  the  newspapers,  discounted  his  bills, 
and  went  to  sleep  at  the  opera.  He  was  a  good  hus- 
band, proud  of  his  wife  because  she  was  his,  loved  his 
children  and  had  a  strong  conviction  that  the  head  of 
the  banking  business  of  Davidge  &  Co.,  was  a  person 
of  some  importance.  He  was  affectionate,  kindly, 
shrewd,  unintelligent  and  vain. 

But  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  a  change  began  to 
take  place  in  Davidge's  character.  He  seemed  to  be 
dropping  a  little  below  the  level  of  life,  as  he  had 
always  lived  it.  He  became  a  shade  less  particular 
about  his  person.  His  expression  changed  slightly. 
He  grew  slowly  into  habits  of  self  indulgence  which 
had  been  quite  foreign  to  his  nature  —  he  was  under- 
going some  subtle  deterioration  —  but  very  gradually. 
Gradually  the  old  Davidge  was  disappearing,  but  so 
slowly,  that  it  was  not  until  the  transformation  was 
complete,  that  his  family  realized  that  a  new  Davidge 
had  taken  the  place  of  the  other  • —  a  man  given  to 
debauchery,  dissipation,  brutality  and  anger. 

97, 


98  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

The  history  of  insanity  can  show  many  such  cases. 
A  man  of  strong  domestic  tastes  will  leave  his  family 
and  refuse  to  see  or  support  them.  An  extraordi- 
narily fastidious  man,  seemingly  the  victim  of  an  unus- 
ually vindictive  providence,  has  been  known  to  marry 
his  cook.  A  refined  and  studious  man  will  become  a 
libertine;  all  victims  of  some  mysterious  physiological 
alteration  of  the  brain  whereby  they  become  other 
people. 

The  shock  that  Pandolfi's  announcement  had  given 
Nina,  was  not  caused  by  any  feeling  of  affection  for  her 
father.  That,  with  liking  even  or  respect,  had  gone 
long  since,  but  by  the  realization  that  it  meant  dis- 
grace and  ruin.  It  had  plunged  her  into  a  chaos  of 
uncertainty  in  which  nothing  could  be  distinguished 
which  might  serve  as  a  sign  to  guide  her  forward. 
That  she  had  thought  of  the  possibility  of  such  a  dis- 
aster, was  shown  by  her  instantaneous  realization  of 
its  significance  and  by  her  calmness  after  the  first 
few  moments.  What  her  father's  fate  might  be,  did 
not  interest  her  in  the  least.  She  hoped  that  he 
had  gone  out  of  her  life  forever  and  her  only  feeling 
toward  him  was  one  of  increased  resentment  for 
this  crowning  disgrace  in  a  long  chapter  of  ig- 
nominy. 

Constance  was  shocked  at  first  by  Nina's  composure 
and  by  certain  contemptuous  references  to  her  father, 
until  the  latter  noticing  it,  told  her  the  story  which 
until  now  pride  had  prevented  her  from  telling  anyone, 
revealing  one  of  those  hidden  dramas  which  are  being 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  99 

enacted  around  us,  perhaps  by  those  most  dear  to  us, 
without  our  knowledge. 

At  ten  o'clock,  a  note  came  from  Aunt  Mary  — 
"  Don't  go  to  bed,"  it  said.  "  I  shall  be  there  soon." 

At  half  past  eleven,  Nina  heard  a  cab  drive  up,  and 
after  a  short  delay  Aunt  Mary  appeared  in  the  little 
boudoir  in  which  she  was  sitting.  She  carried  a  small 
black  bag.  She  was  greatly  excited. 

"  Your  jewels,  your  mother's  and  mine,"  she  an- 
nounced, holding  it  up.  "  There's  that  much  saved 
anyway.  I  was  afraid  someone  would  take  them  away 
from  me.  If  that  odious  Mr.  Storey  hadn't  acted  so 
disgracefully,  dragging  me  out  of  bed  the  way  he  did, 
I  would  have  asked  him  to  slip  out  with  them  in  his 
pocket.  But  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well.  They  say 
you  never  can  tell  about  these  Wall  Street  men,  and  we 
might  never  have  seen  them  again." 

"  Dragging  you  out  of  bed?  " 

"  Well  not  that  exactly ;  don't  be  so  literal ;  but  he 
took  the  children  away  and  I  should  have  been  afraid 
to  stay  there  all  alone."  Suddenly  her  face  became 
distorted,  as  if  she  were  about  to  burst  into  tears. 
"Isn't  it  frightful,  such  a  disgrace?"  She  threw  her 
arms  around  Nina's  neck,  but  almost  at  once  the  latter 
was  startled  to  hear  her  aunt's  loud  masculine  voice 
close  to  her  ear,  call  to  Jacob,  who  had  brought  her  up- 
stairs and  who  was  just  leaving  the  room: 

"  Here,  shut  that  door  after  you,  will  you !  " 

Nina  disengaged  herself. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  cry   about,"  she  said  coldly. 


100  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  I  hope  that  I  shall  never  see  him  again  —  that  is 
almost  worth  the  disgrace,  the  humiliation  of  it  —  the 
thought  that  I  shall  never,  never  see  him  again.  But 
is  everything  gone;  has  he  ruined  himself  and  us  com- 
pletely?" 

"Well,  I  have  a  little,  thank  God,"  Aunt  Mary  an- 
swered. "  I  never  would  let  him  have  my  money  to 
take  care  of,  although  he  suggested  it  more  than  once, 
and  then  of  course  your  income  of  five  thousand  a  year 
was  in  other  hands,  so  that's  safe."  She  leaned  close 
to  Nina  and  speaking  in  a  whisper  said : 

"  He  was  at  the  house  this  afternoon." 

"At  the  house?" 

"  Yes ;  he  came  and  packed  a  valise  and  went  away 
again  —  he  was  like  a  crazy  man.  Most  of  the  time 
scarcely  coherent,  he  said  first  that  he  was  going  to 
give  himself  up,  then  that  he  was  going  away  to  make 
money  and  pay  everybody,  and  finally  that  he  would 
kill  himself.  He  frightened  me." 

"  Do  you  think  that  he  would  do  that?  "  asked  Nina, 
scornfully.  "  I  don't.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  feel 
sorry  for  him,  Aunt  Mary,  but  I  can't,"  Nina  said 
slowly.  "  For  a  long  time  I  have  felt  that  something 
like  this  would  happen  —  but  I  can't  feel  sorry  for  him 
—  you  know  what  father  was  like  ?  " 

"  Know  him !  How  that  man  changed  ; —  it's  in- 
sanity, I  tell  you,  that's  what  it  is." 

"  It  was  bad  habits,  dissipation,  neglect  of  duties.  I 
wonder  how  he  could  have  gone  on  as  long  as  he  has 
without  other  people  finding  him  out?" 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  101 

"  It's  insanity,  I  tell  you,"  reiterated  Aunt  Mary, 
vehemently,  "  it's  in  the  family.  Did  you  never  hear 
of  your  Aunt  Ann? "  And  on  Nina's  answering  in 
the  negative,  she  went  on  with  that  air  of  satisfaction 
which  old  people  assume  when  indulging  in  reminis- 
cences. "  How  well  I  remember,  it  was  years  ago 
and  people  have  forgotten  it.  We  were  all  young  then 
and  lived  in  Pearl  Street  —  I  had  gone  to  church  to  a 
rehearsal  of  the  choir;  things  were  very  different  in 
those  days,  and  I  had  left  your  Aunt  Ann  at  home. 
Well,  I  asked  the  others  in  afterwards,  to  have  some 
cake  and  sherry,  and  when  we  got  to  the  house,  we  all 
went  into  the  drawing-room,  and  what  do  you  suppose 
—  there  was  your  Aunt  Ann  sitting  in  an  easy  chair 
without  any  clothing  on  whatever,  reading  a  novel ! " 

"  Aunt  Mary !  "  cried  Nina. 

"  Without  any  clothing  on  whatever.  The  only  man 
in  the  party,  Mr.  Page,  the  organist,  had  a  weak 
heart  and  fainted  away,  and  Miss  Ann  was  packed 
off  to  Bloomingdale  —  she  was  stark  staring  mad  — 
Not  insanity  indeed! 

"  Yes,  most  of  the  time  he  was  almost  unintelligible, 
he  frightened  me.  But  I  must  say  that  he  seemed 
really  sorry  about  Mr.  Goeffrey's  money.  Every  once 
in  a  while  in  the  midst  of  his  incoherent  ravings,  he 
would  speak  of  Mr.  GoefFrey  and  then  suddenly  he 
would  be  quite  rational  again.  Your  father  and  Mr. 
Goeffrey's  father  had  been  life  long  friends,  and  the 
fact  that  he  had  not  been  true  to  the  trust  that  had 
been  given  him,  seemed  to  make  him  desperate.  He 


102  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

seemed  to  think  more  of  this  than  anything,  and  oh !  " 
she  exclaimed,  "  where  is  it  ?  Oh,  here  it  is  —  he 
gave  me  a  letter  for  Mr.  Goeffrey.  Do  you  know  I  had 
forgotten  all  about  it  —  he  said  you  must  get  this  to 
Mr.  Goeffrey  at  once,  at  once,  do  you  understand,  with- 
out a  moment's  delay?  It  is  of  the  most  vital  import- 
ance, it  may  save  his  money  for  him." 

"  Aunt  Mary,"  cried  Nina  again.  "  And  that  was 
hours  ago." 

"  I'm  sorry,  I  know  I  should  have  done  something, 
but  I  forgot  it  until  just  now.  What  are  you  going 
to  do?  "  For  Nina  had  touched  an  electric  bell. 

"  I  hope  Jacob  is  up  yet,"  she  answered.  "  How 
could  you  be  so  forgetful,  when  perhaps  so  much  is 
at  stake.  It  may  be  too  late  now.  Oh,  Jacob ! " 
she  exclaimed,  as  he  appeared  at  the  door.  "  I'm  so 
glad  you  haven't  gone  to  bed,  will  you  see  if  you  can 
get  Mr.  Hunter  on  the  telephone  —  is  there  one  on  this 
floor?" 

"  In  the  room  that  used  to  be  Mr.  Aladine's  office 
there  is  one,  Miss  Nina,  but  I  am  afraid  that  it  is  out 
of  order  —  I  will  show  you."  And  he  led  her  to  a  small 
room  looking  on  Fifth  Avenue.  As  they  entered,  Jacob 
lighted  a  shaded  lamp  which  hung  suspended  over  a 
massive  desk  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  In 
the  silence  of  the  night,  there  was  something  oppres- 
sive about  the  atmosphere  of  this  little  office.  With 
its  rigid  but  costly  severity,  its  single  light  flooding 
the  enormous  and  ornate  desk  standing  like  a 
symbol  of  its  former  occupant,  Aladine's  spirit  seemed 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  103 

to  pervade  it  and  Nina  almost  fancied  that  she  could 
see  him  sitting  there  as  he  used  to,  with  his  tense 
hawk-like  face,  before  his  massive  desk,  always  quite 
bare  of  everything  except  a  pad  made  of  small  ob- 
long sheets  of  white  paper  on  which  he  was  forever 
making  figures,  always  figures  written  in  pencil,  small, 
faint,  almost  illegible,  as  his  cold  emotionless  voice 
gave  its  orders  to  the  mouthpiece  of  the  telephone. 

Nina  sat  down  at  once  and  put  the  receiver  to  her 
ear,  but  no  sound  came. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  out  of  order,  Miss  Nina,"  Jacob 
repeated.  "  I  tried  to  get  a  message  through  for  Mr. 
Storey  this  afternoon,  but  I  couldn't,  and  no  mes- 
sages have  come  here  to-day  at  all  —  a  quantity  of 
them  have  been  affected  by  the  storm." 

"  How  provoking ! "  Nina  exclaimed,  petulantly. 
Each  was  speaking  in  a  subdued  voice.  She  moved  the 
arm  by  which  the  receiver  was  suspended,  rapidly  up 
and  down,  hoping  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  oper- 
ator at  the  central  office.  "  How  provoking !  "  She 
waited  again  without  result,  Jacob  standing  motion- 
less beside  her.  The  house  was  very  still  and  from  the 
city  only  occasional  distant  sounds  rose  faintly  to 
them,  but  in  the  receiver  which  Nina  held  tightly  to  her 
ear,  there  was  silence,  utter  and  profound,  and  as  she 
held  it  there  and  became  more  and  more  aware  of 
its  dead,  its  complete  stillness,  it  seemed  to  her  she  was 
listening  into  spaces  lying  beyond  the  confines  of  the 
world,  remote,  mysterious,  and  still  under  the  influence 
of  the  personality  which  had  pervaded  this  room,  she 


104  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

felt  each  moment  as  if  she  might  hear  Aladine's  voice, 
cold  but  faint,  speaking  to  her  from  out  of  some  un- 
known, ghostly  place. 

She  put  back  the  receiver  with  a  clatter  and  hur- 
ried into  the  corridor.  "  Jacob,"  she  said,  "  I  have 
a  letter  for  Mr.  Hunter,  which  I  must  deliver  at  once, 
to-night,  and  as  I  can't  tell  him  to  come  for  it,  I  must 
take  it  myself." 

"  But  I  can  take  it,  Miss  Nina." 

"  No,  I  must  take  it  myself,  but  I  should  like  you  to 
come  with  me.  Will  you  call  a  cab  ?  " 

"  But  the  telephone,  ma'am,  we  use  it  even  for  Mrs. 
Aladine's  garage  — " 

"  Of  course,  I  had  forgotten ;  very  well,  we  must  walk 
then." 

"Perhaps  we  shall  meet  a  cab,  although  it  is  quite 
late,"  answered  Jacob. 

As  he  spoke,  Mrs.  Aladine  came  out  of  her  room, 
and  on  hearing  Nina's  explanation  of  her  dilemma,  she 
exclaimed : 

"  I  will  go  too !  You  mustn't  think  of  going  alone. 
I  will  get  ready  at  once." 

Nina  went  back  to  the  boudoir  and  began  putting 
on  her  hat.  Her  aunt  looked  up  in  astonishment. 

"  You  are  not  going  out  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  take  Goeffrey's  letter  to  him." 

"Why  don't  you  tell  him  to  come  for  it?  " 

"  The  telephone  is  out  of  order,"  Nina  answered 
shortly. 

"  You  could  wait  until  morning,  I  should  think.     He 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  105 

can't  do  anything  to-night."  Aunt  Mary  took  out  her 
handkerchief  and  feeling  that  she  was  being  silently 
blamed  for  her  forgetfulness,  prepared  to  put  it  to 
her  eyes.  "  I  really  think  Nina,  that  — " 

"  Oh,  do  be  quiet,"  Nina  interrupted  vehemently, 
stamping  her  foot ;  "  he  must  get  it  and  I  mean  to  take 
it  to  him.  Don't  make  me  more  irritable  than  I  am 
already." 

She  picked  up  her  muff  and  collar,  stopped  for  a  mo- 
ment again  before  the  glass,  and  went  out  saying  to 
her  aunt: 

"  Constance  and  Jacob  are  going  with  me,  you  had 
better  not  wait." 

Constance,  Nina  and  the  old  servant  paused  for  a 
moment  under  the  great  glass  and  iron  marquee  which 
covered  the  main  entrance  on  the  side  street,  as  they 
went  out.  It  seemed  very  late.  A  carriage  stopped 
for  a  moment  before  a  house  further  down ;  a  group 
of  people  left  it  and  ascended  the  steps.  The  door 
slammed  and  they  heard  the  rapid  concussion  of  the 
horses'  hoofs  as  they  moved  away.  An  electric  car 
rushed  by  on  a  neighboring  Avenue,  blazing  with  lights, 
and  all  was  still  again.  It  had  grown  colder.  The 
night  was  calm  and  in  the  sky,  which  was  fast  clear- 
ing, a  full  moon  rode  above  the  clouds.  As  they 
reached  the  corner,  no  vehicle  of  any  kind  was  in  sight. 

"  Let  us  walk,"  said  Constance,  and  they  started 
south.  The  street  was  deserted,  except  for  the  soli- 
tary figure  of  a  man,  who  several  blocks  in  front  of 
them,  was  walking  so  slowly  that  they  rapidly  overtook 


106  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

him.  As  they  came  nearer,  Nina,  who  had  been  looking 
at  him  intently,  suddenly  ran  ahead  calling,  "  Mr.  Ban- 
croft, Mr.  Bancroft !  " 

Mr.  Bancroft  engaged  in  one  of  those  nocturnal 
prowlings,  which  were  a  habit  of  his,  turned  at  the 
sound  of  his  name.  If  he  was  surprised  at  seeing 
them  at  this  hour,  he  did  not  show  it,  and  Constance 
explained  at  once  their  reason  for  calling  him. 

"Would  it  be  too  much  trouble  to  go  with  us?" 
she  concluded,  "  then  I  could  send  Jacob  back." 

"  I  take  these  walks  every  night  for  my  health," 
answered  Mr.  Bancroft.  "  I  am  going  in  that  direc- 
tion and  I  shall  have  to  come  back  in  this  to  get  home 
again,  so  that  you  will  transform  a  disagreeable  neces- 
sity into  a  pleasure." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  Constance  responded.  "  You  need 
not  come  with  us,  Jacob." 

"  And  now  let  me  make  a  suggestion,"  Mr.  Bancroft 
said.  "  We  will  walk  more  rapidly  and  more  easily, 
if  you  will  each  take  an  arm." 

Mr.  Bancroft  spoke  but  little,  and  arm  in  arm,  he 
walking  with  the  slight  tottering  rigidity  of  old  age,  and 
they  the  personification  of  youth,  passed  street  after 
street.  The  theaters  must  have  been  out  long  since, 
and  as  they  reached  the  great  hotels,  they  saw  that 
the  restaurants  were  dark  and  silent.  Only  at  long 
intervals,  a  carriage  or  a  motor  sped  by  on  its  way  up- 
town. On  this  deserted  prospect,  the  moon  poured  a 
flood  of  pale  light  and  the  buildings  rising  dark  and 
somber,  seemed  to  stand  humbly  with  huddled  shoulders, 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  107 

as  if  saying  to  the  pale  satellite  above  them,  "  How  far 
above  even  us,  thou  art,  how  remote." 

They  still  went  on,  but  Mr.  Bancroft's  step  was 
changing;  feeling  those  youthful  arms  within  his  own, 
conscious  of  those  elastic  steps  beside  him,  something 
of  their  life,  their  energy  seemed  to  be  finding  its  way 
into  his  veins,  his  gait  lost  its  heaviness,  he  too  began 
to  walk  with  a  buoyancy  almost  youthful.  From  time 
to  time  he  glanced  at  their  faces  beside  him  and  from 
them  to  the  moon  riding  above;  and  the  quiet  street, 
the  contact  of  these  women  young  and  beautiful,  the 
calm  moon  raining  down  its  flood  of  silver  light,  woke 
in  him  memories  long  sleeping.  He  seemed  almost 
young  again. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said  to  Nina,  in  'his  thin  and  precise 
voice,  "  you  have  had  a  hard  blow  to-day,  and  you  will 
have  others.  But  you  still  have  that  which  rio  man 
can  take  from  you,  and  which  is  worth  all  the  rest.  Do 
you  know  what  it  is?  " 

"  It  seems  as  if  I  had  nothing,"  said  Nina. 

"  You  have  youth,"  he  answered. 

"  But  of  what  value  is  youth  without  the  means  to 
enjoy  it,"  she  thought.  Davidge  throughout  the  de- 
velopment of  that  slow  process  which  was  destroying 
his  brain,  never  lost  sight  of  the  importance  of  his 
position  and  that  of  his  family,  and  even  toward  the 
last  when  hard  put  to  it  for  money,  he  had  always 
maintained  an  opulent  manner  of  life.  It  seemed  as  if 
in  return  for  their  cooperation  in  hiding  his  vices,  he 
had  wished  to  deny  them  nothing,  and  Nina  had  been 


108  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

brought  up  in  utter  disregard  of  the  value  of  money. 
She  had  had  what  she  wanted  and  her  father  had  paid. 
Once,  however,  when  temporarily  embarrassed,  he  had 
reprimanded  her  sharply  for  her  extravagance,  she  had 
realized  with  a  shock  of  apprehension,  that  here  was 
a  different  situation  from  any  that  she  had  known  be- 
fore, that  it  was  possible  to  not  always  have  money, 
and  it  was  from  that  time,  that  she  had  begun  to  dread 
a  catastrophe  such  as  had  taken  place.  It  was  this 
that  had  frightened  her,  and  now  her  fears  had  been 
realized  in  a  way  terribly  definite  and  conclusive.  Her 
former  life  was  at  an  end,  and  she  knew  how  to  live  no 
other,  had  no  wish  to,  and  Goeffrey's  condition  was 
the  same.  She  was  taking  this  letter  to  him  with  the 
desperate  hope  that  it  would  result  in  bettering  their 
fortunes,  but  if  it  did  not,  there  seemed  to  be  nothing 
ahead,  no  future  except  one  which  was  quite  impos- 
sible. 

She  was  deeply  absorbed  in  her  thoughts,  when  her 
attention  was  attracted  to  a  motor  cab  which  passed 
them  rapidly,  going  down  the  avenue.  It  seemed 
crowded  with  people  and  songs,  laughter  and  joyous 
cries  issued  from  within  it.  Three  others  followed  it 
swiftly,  but  the  last,  after  going  a  short  distance, 
stopped  at  the  curb,  waited  for  a  man  to  descend  from 
it,  and  then  went  on  again.  The  man  walked  rapidly 
back  to  meet  them  and  as  he  approached  them,  Nina 
saw  that  it  was  Pandolfi.  A  coat  lined  with  sable  and 
with  a  sable  collar,  covered  his  evening  clothes.  He 
too,  concealed  any  feeling  of  surprise  he  might  have 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  109 

felt  at  seeing  them,  and  after  he  had  greeted  them  and 
they  had  walked  on  together,  Nina  found  herself  by 
his  side,  the  others  having  dropped  a  little  behind. 

"  I  saw  you,  as  I  was  on  my  way  home,"  he  said  to 
her,  speaking  in  a  low  rapid  tone.  "  I  have  been  so 
distressed,  that  I  should  have  been  the  means  of  causing 
you  pain  to-day.  You  know  of  course  that  I  was  quite 
ignorant  of  you  being  there?  " 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Nina,  indifferently,  "  that  is 
understood." 

"  And  I  was  still  more  distressed  at  something 
Hunter  told  me  afterwards,  that  you  are  engaged." 

"  It  is  true,"  Nina  said. 

"  And  I  am  distressed.  Do  you  know  that  he  is 
ruined?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  Nina,  "  I  am  not  sure." 

"  It  is  most  difficult  for  me  to  mention  it  —  under 
the  circumstances,"  answered  Pandolfi.  "  You  will 
readily  understand  why,  but  I  felt  that  I  should  let  yo^ 
know." 

Nina  looked  at  him  with  that  air  of  hauteur,  she 
knew  so  well  how  to  assume. 

"  Are  you  telling  me  this  because  you  think  that 
Goeffrey  will  try  to  conceal  it  from  me?  " 

Pandolfi  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  spread  out  his 
hands.  The  cruel  southern  nature  looked  out  for  a 
moment  and  was  gone  again. 

"  I  am  rebuffed,"  he  said,  "  you  are  right.  It  is 
something  that  does  not  concern  me,  and  I  have  no 
.right  to  mention  it." 


110  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  That  is  why  I  am  on  my  way  to  see  him  now,"  Nina 
answered,  before  she  realized  that  she  was  committing 
an  indiscretion  perhaps. 

"  To  see  him  now?  "  repeated!  Pandolfi  in  amazement, 
stopping  short  according  to  his  wont,  but  going  on 
again  instantly. 

"  Yes,  we  are  on  our  way  there.  Something  has 
made  it  very  necessary  for  me  to  see  him  at  once,  some- 
thing that  may  help  him." 

"  He  is  not  there,"  Pandolfi  answered.  "  I  left  him  a 
few  minutes  ago." 

"  Then  I  shall  wait  for  him,'*  said  Nina  simply. 

Pandolfi  hesitated  for  the  fraction  of  a  second  — 
*'  Then  let  me  suggest  this,"  he  returned.  "  My  quar- 
ters are  in  the  same  house  as  you  know,  let  me  offer 
them  to  you  until  he  comes.  With  Mrs.  Aladine  and 
Mr.  Bancroft,"  he  added,  "  I  am  sure  no  one  could  ob- 
ject." 

Nina  did  not  answer  at  once  and  he  went  on. 

"  There  is  no  waiting  room  there  and  you  would  be 
much  more  comfortable  I  am  sure.  In  addition  I  should 
consider  that  you  had  forgiven  me  for  causing  you  pain 
this  afternoon,  and  for  what  you  thought  I  insinuated 
about  Hunter,  just  now." 

Nina  turned  and  waited  for  the  others. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said  as  they  came  up,  "  that  I 
asked  you  to  come  with  me.  Goeffrey  may  be  very  late, 
Mr.  Pandolfi  says,  but  I  must  see  him.  Mr.  Pandolfi 
has  very  kindly  asked  us  to  wait  in  his  rooms  until 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  111 

Goeffrey  comes  " —  and  she  looked  at  Constance  inter- 
rogatively. 

To  Constance's  conventionally  regulated  life,  the  af- 
fair was  almost  assuming  the  complexion  of  an  adven- 
ture. She  was  eager  to  see  what  that  strange  retreat 
a  bachelor's  apartment  was  like. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  Mr.  Pandolfi,"  she  said,  "  let  us 
accept  by  all  means,"  and  going  on  again  they  pres- 
ently turned  down  a  side  street  on  which  stood  the  Ken- 
worthy,  their  destination.  As  they  went  in,  a  small 
man  with  a  Jewish  cast  of  features  spoke  to  Pandolfi, 
who  answered: 

"  I  will  be  down  again  in  a  moment,"  and  he  ushered 
them  into  the  elevator. 

That  strange  curiosity  which  women  feel  for  the 
habitations  of  unmarried  men,  and  which  they  almost 
always  invest  with  a  vague  atmosphere,  of  secret  and 
romantic  dissipation,  caused  Constance  and  Nina  to 
look  at  the  room  into  which  Pandolfi  had  shown  them, 
with  interest.  It  revealed  its  occupant  to  be  a  man  of 
luxurious  habits,  but  of  bizarre  taste,  and  they  re- 
tained afterwards  only  a  confused  impression  of  sur- 
roundings heavily  sensuous,  of  rugs  that  were  too  thick, 
furniture  too  richly  covered,  of  velvet  curtains  too  ex- 
travagantly draped,  of  a  variety  of  costly  and  yet 
tasteless  ornaments ;  and  of  paintings  in  staring  gilt 
frames,  purchased  without  knowledge  or  appreciation. 
The  environment  of  a  man  with  money,  but  without  cul- 
tivation or  refinement. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

As  soon  as  they  had  seated  themselves,  Pandolfi  asked 
to  be  excused.  "  A  business  acquaintance  has  been  wait- 
ing to  see  me,"  he  explained,  "  on  a  rather  important 
matter,  but  I  shall  not  be  long.  The  moment  Goeffrey 
gets  here,  I  will  let  you  know." 

He  went  out,  closing  the  door  after  him.  After 
nearly  an  hour,  he  came  back  again. 

"  Goeffrey  is  here  at  last,"  he  announced,  "  and  asks 
if  you  will  please  come  to  his  rooms.  He  has  gone 
up  to  see  if  they  are  presentable." 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  VERY  few  minutes  after  Pandolfi  had  joined  Con- 
stance, Nina  and  Mr.  Bancroft,  four  motor  cabs  turn- 
ing into  a  cross  street  from  that  portion  of  Fifth  Ave- 
nue now  given  over  to  shops,  approached  the  Kenworthy 
Chambers.  As  the  first  of  these  vehicles  stopped  before 
the  entrance,  the  door  burst  open  as  if  from  consider- 
able pressure,  and  six  persons,  three  women  and  three 
men,  among  whom  were  Richard  and  Goeffrey,  disen- 
gaged themselves  with  difficulty  and  descended  to  the 
sidewalk.  Seeming  quite  oblivious  of  the  attention  they 
attracted  from  the  few  passersby,  they  gazed  noncha- 
lantly at  the  sky,  the  opposite  houses,  the  cabs  or  the 
fa9ade  of  the  Kenworthy  for  a  moment,  and  then  as 
if  moved  by  a  common  impulse,  turned,  ascended  the 
steps  and  entered. 

The  second  motor  was  occupied  by  Doris  and  a 
tall  shapely  blonde,  who  looked  quite  bored  and  ill 
tempered. 

"  If  they  go  up  without  waiting  for  us  I'll  go  home," 
said  the  latter. 

"  Oh  Irma,  please,"  replied  Doris,  "  you'll  spoil 
Goeffrey's  party." 

The  third  cab  had  but  one  occupant.  As  the  door 
opened  a  tall  slender  young  man  with  rather  long  blond 

113 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

hair,  emerged.  Although  he  seemed  to  be  slightly  in- 
toxicated, he  tried  to  walk  with  a  fashionable  air,  bend- 
ing forward  elegantly  from  the  waist.  The  night  wind 
blowing  his  black  trousers  about,  displayed  the  outlines 
of  his  thin  calves.  Instead  of  following  the  others,  he 
waited  the  approach  of  the  fourth  cab,  and  as  it  stopped 
he  seized  the  handle  and  with  a  loud  laugh  opened  the 
door. 

The  cab  was  empty. 

The  young  man  stared  with  astonishment  into  its 
recesses,  pulled  his  high  hat  down  tightly  on  his  head, 
looked  hurriedly  up  and  down  the  street,  and  quickly 
running  to  Doris  and  Irma,  who  were  just  entering  the 
building,  he  cried : 

"  Pandolfi  is  not  in  his  cab !  " 

Doris  and  Irma  stopped  for  a  moment  in  amazement 
and  then  running  to  the  rest  of  the  party,  who  were 
waiting  for  the  elevator,  exclaimed : 

"  Pandolfi  is  not  in  his  cab ! " 

All  turned  in  consternation  and  then  in  a  body 
passed  out  of  the  building,  descended  the  steps  and  ap- 
proached the  cab,  each  in  turn  peering  into  it  and 
conjecturing  as  to  the  cause  of  this  strange  disappear- 
ance. 

"  Perhaps  he  wanted  to  walk." 

"  Pandolfi  never  walks  if  he  can  help  it." 

"Perhaps  he  has  fallen  out." 

"  But  both  the  doors  were  shut,"  answered  Davenport, 
the  young  man  who  had  made  the  discovery. 

"  He  didn't  intend  to  come,"  said  Irma  angrily,  whose 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  115 

irritation,  for  some  reason,  seemed  to  be  increasing  — 
"  well  come  along,  we  don't  need  him." 

"  The  gentleman  said  that  he  would  see  you  later," 
the  chauffeur  suddenly  explained  in  a  rough  voice. 

"  Well,  why  didn't  you  say  so  before,  you  fool?  "  said 
Irma,  angrier  than  ever,  "  instead  of  keeping  us  out 
here  to  freeze,"  and  she  moved  once  more  toward  the 
entrance.  The  others  followed. 

The  chauffeur,  a  short  burly  man  with  a  red  face, 
looked  indignantly  at  the  retreating  group  and  then 
cried  out  insolently: 

"Whose  going  to  pay  me?" 

"  Go  to  the  devil,"  responded  Irma's  clear  full  voice. 

At  this  the  four  chauffeurs  descended  hastily.  The 
burly  red  faced  man  was  leading  and  advancing  close 
to  Irma,  he  said  in  a  sneering  insolent  tone : 

"  I  know  you  —  you  don't  pay  for  anything  —  not 
when  you've  got  someone  to  do  it  for  you." 

Irma  gave  him  the  look  of  a  tigress  and  seemed  ready 
to  spring  at  him,  when  Davenport  interrupted  in  a 
conciliatory  tone,  saying: 

"  Now,  now,  my  man,  we  don't  want  any  trouble." 

"  Who's  talking  to  you?  "  the  chauffeur  answered,  so 
threateningly  that  Davenport  ran  quickly  up  the  steps 
—  and  going  close  to  Irma  he  repeated  again,  with  an 
indescribable  leer : 

"  Not  when  you've  got  someone  to  do  it  for  you." 

But  a  new  actor  now  appeared  in  this  little  drama. 
Glevin,  the  third  man  in  the  first  motor,  came  quickly 
down  the  steps.  He  was  twenty-five  perhaps,  short,  and 


116  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

with  closely  cut  blond  hair.  He  was  clean  shaven  with 
a  hard,  almost  brutal  face.  He  had  a  thick  neck  and  his 
shoulders  were  very  broad.  Tearing  off  his  overcoat 
quickly,  he  threw  it  to  Davenport,  brushed  past  Irma 
and  seizing  the  chauffeur  by  the  shoulder,  he  whirled  him 
away  from  her  without  apparent  effort,  but  with  such 
force  that  he  spun  twice  around  before  coming  to  a  stop 
and  standing  with  his  face  close  to  the  chauffeur's  he 
said,  looking  him  straight  in  the  eye: 

"  Say  that  again,  will  you !  — " 

The  chauffeur,  knowing  his  man,  hesitated,  and  for 
a  moment  there  was  silence.  The  women  frightened  and 
yet  fascinated,  drew  away  without,  however,  being  able 
to  avert  their  gaze.  Goeffrey  and  Richard  had  come 
down  and  were  standing  close  to  Glevin,  furious  at  be- 
ing involved  in  such  a  disgraceful  scene.  Two  or  three 
servants  from  the  Kenworthy  came  out  and  a  number  of 
passersby  had  assembled  to  see  the  outcome  of  the  al- 
tercation. 

Glevin  went  still  closer  to  the  chauffeur  and  pressed 
against  him  compelling  him  to  give  way  a  step. 

"  Say  that  again,"  he  repeated. 

The  chauffeur,  his  face  distorted  with  impotent  rage, 
remained  silent. 

Twice  more  Glevin  repeated  this  maneuver  and  twice 
the  chauffeur  gave  way.  There  was  something  pitiless 
about  Glevin's  action,  pitiless  and  repulsive.  He  seemed 
determined  to  goad  the  man  into  a  fight  and  all  felt 
instinctively,  the  chauffeur  perhaps  better  than  any, 
that  he  stood  no  chance  with  Glevin,  that  his  punishment 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  117 

would  be  quick  and  merciless.  Glevin  was  too  sure  of 
himself,  knew  his  powers  too  well,  was  too  anxious  to 
display  them. 

At  this  moment  a  little  withered  man,  a  German,  one 
of  the  other  chauffeurs,  pulled  timidly  at  Glevin's  sleeve : 

"  Please,  gentleman,"  he  said,  holding  his  hat  in  his 
hand  and  speaking  with  a  strong  accent,  "  he  yoost 
vants  his  money." 

"  I  thought  he  wanted  to  fight,"  said  Glevin  taunt- 
ingly;  "  well,  which  is  it?  Do  you  want  to  fight  or  do 
you  want  your  money." 

The  chauffeur  scowling  at  him,  backed  away  and 
walked  slowly  toward  his  cab  without  answering. 

"  Gentleman,"  repeated  the  old  German,  "  he  yoost 
vants  his  money."  He  looked  at  Glevin  appealingly  and 
finally  smiled,  but  so  dubiously,  displaying  a  toothless 
mouth,  that  Irma  began  to  laugh,  at  which  the  old 
chauffeur's  mouth  opened  still  wider  and  repeating,  *'  he 
yoost  vants  his  money,"  he  too  began  in  the  cracked  fal- 
setto of  old  age,  until  a  general  sound  of  laughter 
arose;  nods  and  winks  were  exchanged  among  the  by- 
standers who  began  to  disperse  and  Glevin  taking  his 
coat  from  Davenport  : —  who  seeing  that  peace  had  been 
restored,  had  come  down  the  steps  again  —  put  it  on. 

"  Pay  these  men,"  said  Goeffrey  to  one  of  the  ser- 
vants. "  I  hope  supper  isn't  cold,"  and  he  started  up 
the  steps  once  more,  followed  by  the  others. 

"  Veil !  good  night,"  called  out  the  old  chauffeur. 

For  some  reason  everyone  laughed  again  at  this  and 
Goeffrey  and  his  companions  went  into  the  Kenworthy 


118  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

in  excellent  humor  which  increased  into  a  general  hi- 
larity. All  crowded  into  the  elevator  and  as  it  ascended, 
a  confused  hubbub  of  singing  and  laughter  resounded, 
above  which  could  be  heard  the  voice  of  the  elevator  at- 
tendant repeating: 

"  Please,  gentlemen,  please,  this  is  against  the  rules." 

At  the  fourteenth  story,  the  door  was  pushed  back 
with  a  clang  and  men  and  women  walked  rapidly  to 
Goeffrey's  apartment,  admission  to  which  was  given  at 
once  by  Waters  who  had  been  waiting  anxiously  for 
them. 

Davenport,  because  Glevin  had  tickled  his  neck,  came 
out  of  the  elevator  last  of  all  laughing  immoderately. 
Stooping  over  and  resting  his  hands  on  his  knees,  he 
burst  into  a  violent  fit  of  coughing.  Finally  reaching 
the  door  and  finding  that  it  had  been  locked  from  within, 
he  burst  into  fresh  paroxysms  of  laughter  —  seeming  to 
find  something  extraordinarily  funny  in  this  proceeding, 
until  finally  he  was  admitted. 

These  parties  given  occasionally  at  the  rooms  of 
various  men,  had  a  fascination  for  Goeffrey,  who  in 
the  social  intercourse  of  the  more  conventional  kind, 
often  noticed  a  self  consciousness  which  seemed  extremely 
provincial  to  him.  Here  at  least  they  were  themselves. 
The  women,  all  actresses,  and  all  favorites  on  the  metro- 
politan stage,  stars  of  lesser  magnitude  —  were  provin- 
cial too,  to  an  extent,  but  they  were  not  troubled  by  self 
consciousness,  and  there  was  a  breezy  inconsequence 
about  them,  a  verve  and  a  quickness  of  wit,  expressed 
in  language  unconventional  and  picturesque  which 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  119 

amused  him  greatly.  They  lived  too  hard,  slept  too 
little  and  smoked  too  many  cigarettes,  but  they  were 
not  vulgar  and  any  mention  of  their  love  affairs,  even 
if  they  were  perfectly  well  known,  was  strictly  tabooed. 
Although  someone  was  sure  to  get  drunk  at  these 
parties,  it  was  always  one  of  the  men.  The  women 
possessed  a  natural  vivacity  which  needed  no  stimulus 
and  they  drank  little. 

But  of  them  all  he  liked  Doris  the  best.  In  her  beau- 
tiful but  sullen  face,  her  musical  and  perfectly  modu- 
lated voice,  her  daring  elegance  of  manner  and  dress, 
there  was  a  manifest  superiority  which  the  other  women 
accepted,  and  yet  strangely  enough  did  not  resent,  prob- 
ably because  of  her  obvious  sincerity  and  kindness  of 
heart.  Beside  the  rather  boisterous  give  and  take  of 
the  other  women,  there  was  a  refinement  about  her  which 
was  in  striking  contrast  to  them.  Although  she  lived 
their  life,  she  seemed  to  belong  to  another  class.  Once 
when  some  rather  outrageous  conduct  had  been  indulged 
in,  she  had  disappeared  and  they  had  found  that  she  had 
slipped  quietly  away. 

The  supper  was  well  under  way,  Waters  serving  it 
with  his  accustomed  dexterity,  and  Richard  had  left 
the  table  to  play  something  for  them  in  response  to  a 
general  request.  Aside  from  the  candles  on  the  table 
and  a  few  shaded  lamps,  there  were  no  lights  in  the 
room,  and  in  the  far  corner  where  he  was  seated,  his 
shirt  front  made  a  white  blur  above  the  grand  piano, 
emerging  from  the  shadow  and  receding  again  as  he 
drew  on  the  cigarette  which  he  still  held  between  his 


120  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

lips.     Goeffrey  had  noticed  that  Doris,  who  sat  next  to 
him,  was  unusually  quiet. 

"What  is  it,"  he  asked  her.  "What  is  the  mat- 
ter?" 

"  Nothing  much,"  she  answered,  "  but  Glevin  fright- 
ened me ;  I  hate  violence  so,  of  any  kind,  it  makes  me  feel 
weak ;  but  I  shall  be  all  right  again  presently,"  and  lift- 
ing her  champagne  glass,  she  drank  some  of  its  contents. 
They  were  speaking  in  an  undertone,  as  the  others  had 
stopped  talking  for  a  moment  to  listen  to  the  piano,  and 
Richard  was  playing  with  a  rather  exaggerated  ex- 
pression but  in  soft  tones,  giving  the  impression  of 
music  heard  at  a  distance,  some  of  those  ephemeral 
airs,  half  sad,  half  lively,  which  appear  in  every  capital 
and  which  like  the  units  of  that  gay  life  of  which  they 
are  the  product  and  the  expression,  have  their  brief 
vogue  and  are  forgotten.  One  of  the  women  was  sing- 
ing softly  in  a  clear,  fresh  voice. 

"  Doris,"  said  Goeffrey,  "  will  you  forgive  me  for 
what  I  said  the  other  day,  and  will  you  believe  me  when 
I  say  that  I  am  really  and  truly  sorry  and  that  I  am 
heartily  ashamed  of  myself?  " 

Doris  was  turning  her  champagne  glass  round  and 
round,  she  did  not  look  up. 

"  Of  course  I  forgive  you,  Goeffrey.  I  knew  that 
you  would  regret  it,  and  I  regret  showing  my  vexa- 
tion —  but  you  hurt  me.  That  was  the  sort  of  thing 
one  might  expect  of  Glevin,  but  not  of  you." 

He  felt  that  that  responsiveness  which  had  developed 
so  rapidly  in  her  since  he  had  first  met  her,  was  lacking. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  121 

There  was  some  mental  reservation  there  which  made  a 
complete  resumption  of  their  old  friendship  impossible. 
He  had  gone  down  in  her  estimation  too  far  to  be  able 
to  regain  his  position  by  a  mere  apology. 

"  I  know,"  he  answered  disappointedly,  "  but  are  we 
still  friends?" 

"Still  friends,  Goeffrey." 

"  I  am  glad,  Doris,  because  everything  will  be  so  dif- 
ferent now,  that  perhaps  I  shall  not  see  you  any 
more  — " 

She  turned  quickly  to  him. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  that  my  old  life  is  over." 

"  But  how,  Goeffrey?     I  don't  understand." 

"  Do  you  remember  my  saying  that  the  reason  I  did 
not  get  commissions,  was  because  it  wasn't  necessary? 
It  is  necessary  now." 

"  Why  now  more  than  then  ?  " 

"  Because  there  has  been  a  failure  and  my  money  is 
gone.  Do  you  remember  telling  me  that  you  were  wor- 
ried about  me;  about  Pandolfi  and  Davidge?  Well, 
Davidge  is  ruined,  he  has  run  away." 

The  news  had  an  extraordinary  effect  on  her.  She 
half  rose  from  her  chair  as  if  looking  for  some  means  of 
escape,  and  at  the  same  time  an  expression  of  helpless 
fury,  of  rage,  swept  across  her  face. 

"  Oh,  Goeffrey,  it  is  too  terrible." 

"  What  did  you  mean  the  other  day,  by  being  wor- 
ried, what  had  you  heard?  " 

Doris  put  her  hands  to  her  throat  as  if  it  were  hard 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

for  her  to  breathe.  She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment 
and  then  she  said,  speaking  hurriedly: 

"  Nothing,  except  that  I  knew  that  Ernesto  and  Mr. 
Davidge  were  friends  —  I  knew  that  Mr.  Davidge  was  a 
dissipated  man  —  it  did  not  seem  to  me  that  that  kind 
of  man  should  be  trusted  with  other  people's  money ;  and 
yet  from  what  Ernesto  had  said  about  you  and  his 
daughter,  I  did  not  feel  as  if  I  could  tell  you  about  him. 
I  thought  that  you  might  think  that  I  was  jealous  of 
your  friendship  with  her.  It  wasn't  true  of  course  — 
that  I  was  jealous  —  and  I  should  have  spoken." 

"  It  would  have  made  no  difference,"  said  Goeffrey. 

"  But  I'm  so  —  so  sorry,  Goeffrey  —  and  must  you 
give  up  all  your  beautiful  things  —  these  beautiful 
rooms  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so  and  my  old  life,"  answered  Goeffrey. 

Truly  it  seemed  hard  to  have  to  give  it  up.  He 
looked  about  him  as  he  spoke,  at  the  rich  background  of 
the  room,  the  table  with  its  covering  of  crimson  silk  in 
the  candles'  light ;  and  the  women  —  Blanche  and 
Louise,  dark  and  vivacious,  Pauline,  dark  too,  but 
younger  and  more  appealing,  Irma,  tall,  shapely  and 
blond,  with  her  small  straight  nose  and  full  round  chin, 
and  Doris,  more  beautiful  than  all,  and  about  each 
something  which  suggested  those  airs  which  Richard  was 
playing  as  if  from  a  distance;  gay,  with  an  undercur- 
rent of  unconscious  ennui  —  ephemeral  and  fleeting. 

The  partial  intoxication  which  had  shown  itself  on 
their  arrival  in  the  cabs,  had  been  dissipated  by  the 
excitement  of  Glevin's  encounter  with  the  chauffeur  and 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  123 

all  now  drank  freely ;  Waters,  dexterously  and  without 
obtrusion,  replenishing  each  glass  before  it  was  empty, 
cooperating  earnestly  to  produce  the  necessary  exhilara- 
tion. Conversation  became  noisier  and  more  general. 
Irma,  brandishing  her  white  arms  above  the  table,  gave 
an  imitation  for  which  she  was  famous  and  at  which 
everybody  laughed  heartily.  Davenport,  putting  his 
head  in  his  plate,  luckily  a  fresh  one,  and  giving  way 
to  unbridled  mirth  —  always  more  easily  affected  than 
the  others,  was  rapidly  getting  very  drunk.  Blanche 
and  Louise  contributed  to  the  general  hilarity  by  sing- 
ing a  duet  in  which  they  were  to  appear  together  in  a 
new  musical  comedy  and  going  through  some  cleverly 
ridiculous  business  which  they  were  working  up  for  it. 
Davenport  with  his  head  still  in  his  plate,  laughed  more 
than  ever. 

"  Shut  up,  will  you,"  remonstrated  Irma,  "  we  can't 
hear  anything." 

Suddenly  a  shout  arose,  Pandolfi  had  come  into  the 
room.  He  explained  his  disappearance  by  saying  that 
he  had  seen  someone  in  the  street  as  he  was  passing  in 
the  cab,  whom  he  was  most  anxious  to  have  a  word 
with. 

"  And  by  the  way,"  he  said  to  Goeffrey,  "  a  friend 
stopped  in  for  a  moment  and  I  brought  him  up  —  Mr. 
Hunter,  Mr.  Eckstein." 

A  small  Jew  advanced  obsequiously  and  after  shaking 
hands  with  Goeffrey  seated  himself  at  one  corner  of  the 
table  in  a  chair  Waters  brought  up ;  Pandolfi  taking 
the  place  which  had  been  left  vacant  for  him.  The  Jew 


124  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

was  known  to  some  of  the  women,  for  he  exchanged 
greetings  with  them  as  he  looked  about  smilingly, 
plainly  delighted  at  having  fallen  in  with  such  pleasant 
company.  The  general  sense  of  hilarity  and  good  fel- 
lowship was  at  its  height.  Although  everyone  had 
smoked  cigarettes  straight  through,  Pauline  now  took 
from  a  case  which  hung  at  her  waist,  a  long  thin  cigar 
and  lighted  it  at  one  of  the  candles,  and  Waters,  who 
had  just  served  coffee,  passed  others  of  a  larger  and 
stronger  variety  to  the  men.  Blue  tendrils  of  smoke 
twisted  lazily  in  the  air,  and  the  crimson  glow  from  the 
cloth  flushed  the  faces  and  seemed  to  accentuate  the 
audaciously  elegant  costumes  of  the  women. 

"  By  the  way,  Goeffrey,"  said  Glevin  suddenly,  dur- 
ing a  lull  in  the  conversation,  "  didn't  Davidge  look 
after  your  money  ?  " 

"  He  did,"  Goeffrey  answered.     "  Worse  luck." 

"  My  God !  but  that's  bad,"  returned  Glevin. 
"  That's  hard  luck." 

"  My !  My ! "  exclaimed  Eckstein,  who  until  now  had 
spoken  only  to  Louise  at  his  right  and  Pandolfi  at  his 
left  — "  that's  too  bad.  They  say  he  squandered  every- 
thing." 

"  What's  the  matter,  has  Goeffrey  lost  some  money?  " 
asked  Pauline. 

"  If  Davidge  had  it,  ten  to  one  he's  lost  it  all,"  an- 
swered Glevin. 

Goeffrey  at  the  head  of  the  table  saw  that  they  were 
all  looking  at  him  curiously,  a  fusillade  of  questions 
were  fired  at  him  —  the  moment  seemed  ripe  for  a  dra- 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  125 

matic  climax  and  the  idea  came  into  his  head  that  he 
would  make  them  a  little  speech  and  say  good-by. 

He  stood  up  and  raised  his  glass. 

"  Yes,  I've  lost  it  all.     Wish  me  good  luck." 

All  raised  their  glasses  and  drank.  Cries  of  "  Good 
luck,  good  luck,  cheer  up,  Goeffrey,  we'll  help  you," 
were  heard,  hands  were  held  out  to  him  and  those  near- 
est patted  him  sympathetically  on  the  back.  Only 
Doris,  after  she  had  drunk  with  the  others,  sat  quietly 
in  her  chair  —  a  smile  on  her  face  which  was  perilously 
close  to  tears,  if  anyone  had  noticed. 

"  Speech,  speech,"  called  Davenport,  who  seemed  to 
think  the  whole  thing  a  joke.  Seizing  a  pack  of  cards 
lying  on  a  table  which  had  been  arranged  for  poker, 
he  put  it  on  the  top  of  Goeffrey's  head  whence  it  slipped 
in  a  shower  to  the  table. 

"  Stop  it,  will  you,  Davenport." 

"  Shut  up." 

"  Sit  down,"  was  heard  and  Glevin  pulled  him  into 
his  chair. 

Goeffrey  laughed  in  a  queer  embarrassed  way.  Put- 
ting his  hands  on  the  table  to  steady  himself,  he  had 
been  drinking  freely  in  spite  of  Doris's  protestations, 
he  began. 

"  Yes.  I'm  afraid  that  everything  will  be  rather  dif- 
ferent now.  To  tell  the  truth  I  didn't  feel  very  much 
like  having  you  to-night  on  account  of  the  bad  news  I 
had  just  heard  —  and  another  thing  —  but  we  have  had 
so  many  good  times  together,  that  it  seemed  not  quite 
fair  to  you  and  an  unnecessary  hardship  for  me  to  de- 


126  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

prive  myself  of  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  once  more. 

"  Not  see  us  any  more,"  cried  Irma.  "  Well,  why 
not?" 

"  Don't  think  that  I  take  too  serious  a  view  of  things," 
continued  Goeffrey,  "  it  isn't  that ;  but  I  have  thought 
about  it  a  good  deal  to-day  and  it  seems  to  me  that  I 
must  lead  one  kind  of  life  or  another.  This  kind  is  very 
pleasant,  I  admit,  but  I  shan't  be  able  to  do  my  share 
now,  and  to  take  part  in  it  on  any  other  terms  wouldn't 
be  possible." 

"  Veil,  goot  night,"  interrupted  Davenport,  imitat- 
ing the  accent  of  the  old  chauffeur.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  Goeffrey  was  very  dull  and  he  settled  himself  in  his 
chair  as  if  to  take  a  nap. 

"  Do  be  quiet,"  said  Irma,  speaking  to  him  again. 

"  So  I'm  going  to  buckle  down  and  see  what  it's  like 
—  earning  one's  living  —  and  luckily  I  have  a  way  of 
earning  it  because  I  have  a  profession.  I'm  an 
architect.  My  father  asked  me  one  day  to  promise 
him  that  after  he  died  I  would  come  home  and  go  into 
business.  I  made  the  promise  and  I  came  here  to 
keep  it,  but  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  kept  it  very  well,  but 
the  reason  I  didn't  in  part,  was  because  it  didn't  seem 
fair  exactly.  I  ran  across  a  number  of  chaps  here, 
chaps  I  had  known  in  Paris,  and  most  of  them  were 
having  a  hard  time  to  get  along.  Why  should  I,  who 
had  so  much,  try  to  get  work  which  they  needed.  They 
were  like  poor  artists,  struggling  to  get  money  and 
fame  —  it  was  like  taking  the  bread  out  of  their 
mouths." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  127 

"  Take  bread  out  of  an  artist's  mouth,"  suddenly 
interrupted  Davenport,  again  laughing  immoderately. 
"  Why,  you  must  be  a  presti-ti-ti-digi-tateur,  not  an 
architect.  Take  some  gold  coins  out  of  Eckstein's 
nose." 

The  Jew,  who  was  a  total  stranger  to  Davenport, 
shot  an  angry  glance  at  him  and  renewed  protestations 
were  heard. 

"  Oh,  he's  too  impossible." 

"  We'll  put  you  out,  Davenport." 

"  He's  so  fresh." 

Goeffrey  prepared  to  sit  down,  but  in  response  to 
numerous  invitations  to  go  on,  began  again. 

"  Well  —  there  isn't  much  more  to  say  except  to 
repeat  that  I  want  your  good  wishes.  People  say  that 
it  is  hard  to  make  money,  but  if  one  is  in  earnest,  if  one 
does  one's  best,  I  don't  think  it  can  be  so  very  difficult. 
You  all  make  money.  If  there  is  any  secret  about  it 
other  than  hard  work,  tell  me  what  it  is?  " 

He  stopped  as  if  waiting  for  an  answer,  but  no  one 
spoke.  Thinking  perhaps  of  those  bitter  blows  which 
life  had  dealt  each  of  them,  they  looked  at  Goeff rev's 
eager  expression,  at  his  bearing  of  confidence  in  facing 
for  the  first  time  the  realities  of  life  —  life  which  had 
left  them  with  no  illusions  —  with  a  feeling  of  pity  for 
him  and  with  the  knowledge  that  their  dearly  bought 
experience  was  useless  to  anyone  except  themselves. 
That  he  must  learn  the  answer  to  his  question  unaided. 
An  uneasy  silence  followed  —  accompanied  by  a  move- 
ment of  restlessness.  Goeffrey  was  beginning  to  bore 


128  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

them  —  an  unpardonable  crime  —  but  at  that  instant 
a  sharp  report  was  heard,  followed  by  a  cry  of  pain 
from  Davenport,  who  was  seen  holding  his  cheek. 
Taking  some  ivory  counters  from  the  poker  table,  he 
had  slipped  them  down  Irma's  back  and  had  received 
in  return  a  stinging  slap  in  the  face.  This  diversion 
was  taken  instant  advantage  of,  shouts  of  laughter 
were  heard  from  the  men,  accompanied  by  cries  of  pre- 
tended indignation  from  the  women.  All  jumped  up, 
including  Goeffrey,  who  felt  that  he  had  been  put- 
ting a  damper  on  the  festivities,  and  rushed  at  the 
unfortunate  Davenport,  who  tried  to  evade  them  by 
running  around  the  furniture,  showing  surprising 
agility  for  a  drunken  man.  "Put  him  in  the  study," 
Goeffrey  directed,  as  they  cornered  him,  and  in  spite 
of  his  struggles,  he  was  seized,  thrust  in  and  the 
door  was  locked,  but  almost  at  once,  like  one  of  those 
harlequins  on  the  stage,  who  no  sooner  go  out  at  one 
door,  than  they  appear  at  another,  he  came  in  again 
at  the  entrance  to  the  apartment.  He  had  discovered 
that  the  rear  door  was  unlocked,  and  running  for  one 
flight  down  the  narrow  stairs,  by  which  Doris  had  left 
on  a  previous  afternoon,  he  had  come  up  at  the  front. 
He  was  seized  again,  but  this  time  resorting  to  passive 
resistance,  he  refused  to  move,  so  that  they  were  com- 
pelled to  carry  him.  All  helped,  and  a  dense  mass  sur- 
rounded him  from  which  only  his  head  protruded,  his 
rather  long  blond  hair  hanging  down  as  they  bore  him 
toward  his  prison.  Laughter,  shouts  and  facetious 
comments  mingled  as  they  moved  slowly  toward  the 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  129 

study,  when  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  feeling 
that  they  were  no  longer  alone,  they  looked  behind 
them  —  and  Davenport  dropped  to  the  floor.  Mrs. 
Aladine,  Nina,  Mr.  Bancroft  and  Pandolfi,  who  had 
gone  out  a  few  minutes  before,  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"  Miss  Davidge,"  said  Pandolfi,  with  a  sinister  smile, 
"your  fiancee." 

In  a  flash  on  Goeffrey's  brain,  befuddled  though  it 
was,  an  indelible  impression  was  printed,  of  the  entire 
scene.  He  saw  his  guests,  men  and  women,  taken  off 
their  guard,  awkward  and  ill  at  ease;  he  saw  Mrs. 
'Aladine  tall,  beautiful  and  elegant,  looking  about  with 
a  gracious,  kindly  and  half  amused  smile,  he  saw  Nina's 
expression  of  scorn  and  hauteur,  Pandolfi's  triumphant 
manner,  Doris's  glance  of  reproach  and  he  was  even 
conscious  that  Davenport,  possessed  with  a  maudlin 
idea  of  escaping  notice,  was  crawling  stealthily  on 
his  hands  and  knees  through  the  half  open  door  of  the 
study. 

Nina  took  the  letter  from  her  muff  and  laid  it  on 
the  table. 

"  For  you,"  she  said,  without  looking  at  him,  "  from 
my  father,"  and  turned  toward  the  door. 

A  tempest  of  rage  and  despair  filled  Goeffrey's  heart, 
his  world  was  tumbling  about  him  in  utter  ruin,  and  in 
this  final  havoc,  as  in  the  rest,  Pandolfi  had  a  hand. 
He  went  up  to  him,  inflamed  with  fury.  "  I  have  to 
thank  you  for  this,"  he  cried  thickly  and  struck  him 
in  the  face.  Pandolfi  reeled,  caught  at  the  table- 
cloth and  precipitated  an  avalanche  of  dishes  to  the 


130  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

floor,  but  recovering  himself,  he  rushed  at  Goeffrey 
only  to  be  thrust  aside  as  lightly  as  a  feather  by  Glevin 
who  pushed  him  out  of  the  door. 

"Did  he  know?  "  asked  Mrs.  Aladine  of  Richard,  a 
light  of  understanding  dawning  in  her  eyes,  "  for 
shame." 

Nina  had  already  gone  out  with  Mr.  Bancroft  and 
Richard  accompanied  Mrs.  Aladine  into  the  hall. 
"  Let  me  go  back  with  you?  "  he  said.  "  If  you  will  walk 
slowly  with  Nina  and  Mr.  Bancroft,  I  will  overtake 
you,  but  I  must  get  rid  of  the  others?  " 

And  Goeffrey  was  alone  at  last  —  in  the  disordered 
room,  amid  the  debris  of  the  broken  dishes  swept  to 
the  floor  by  Pandolfi,  and  with  his  thoughts  of  his 
ruined  fortunes  and  of  Nina's  scorn.  Every  tie  that 
bound  him  to  the  past  was  gone  it  seemed  to  him,  and 
he  would  wake  in  the  morning  like  someone  waking 
in  a  strange  land,  without  friends  and  with  a  future 
before  him  with  which  the  past  had  no  connection.  He 
thought  of]  his  life  since  he  had  been  in  New  York 
and  how  in  spite  of  his  idleness,  he  too  had  been  in- 
oculated with  its  fever,  its  unrest,  so  that  even  his 
pleasures  were  sought  with  a  sort  of  ferocity,  an  ap- 
petite for  excitement  which  became  more  and  more  in- 
satiable. 

He  went  to  a  window  and  raised  the  shade  —  the 
moon  had  set  and  under  the  light  of  the  stars,  sprinkling 
the  blue  black  of  the  night  sky,  the  buildings  rose, 
vast,  silent  and  somber,  like  sleepless  sentinels  watching 
for  the  hordes  which  would  return  at  dawn.  And  at 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  131 

the  thought  of  them,  as  he  had  watched  them  so  often, 
their  countless  numbers,  their  wan,  pallid  and  tired 
faces,  struggling  stupidly  as  if  under  the  hypnosis 
of  some  grotesque  idea,  he  realized  fully  for  the  first 
time  what  he  had  to  do  and  a  feeling  of  terror  seized 
him  at  the  thought  that  to-morrow  he  too  must  be  one 
of  them,  must  gird  himself  to  take  part  in  that  heart- 
breaking and  relentless  struggle. 

He  was  aroused  by  someone  moving  in  the  study. 
No  one  had  thought  of  Davenport.  Going  in  he  found 
him  stretched  on  a  sofa,  sleeping  uneasily,  and  seizing 
him  by  the  shoulder  he  shook  him  roughly. 

"  Here,  get  up,  will  you?  " 

Davenport  rose  immediately  without  speaking,  not 
half  awake.  Goeffrey  seized  his  overcoat,  got  it  on 
somehow,  and  placing  his  hat  on  his  head  led  him 
toward  the  door  in  silence.  As  they  passed  the  poker 
table,  Davenport  with  an  automatic  movement  gathered 
up  a  handful  of  ivory  counters  and  tossed  them  in  the 
air.  As  they  fell  they  struck  the  top  of  his  hat  with 
a  drumming  noise.  Without  a  word  Goeffrey  led 
him  into  the  hall  and  left  him  there,  but  almost  at  once 
a  knock  was  heard,  Davenport  was  standing  outside 
again.  He  still  seemed  almost  asleep  and  swayed 
slightly  from  side  to  side. 

"Where  are  they?"  he  asked,  looking  stupidly  at 
Goeffrey. 

"  Go  to  the  devil ! "  the  latter  shouted  furiously  and 
slammed  the  door  in  his  face. 

Suddenly     he     remembered     the     letter     Nina     had 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

brought.  She  had  laid  it  on  the  table  just  before 
he  had  struck  Pandolfi,  and  it  must  be  buried  in  the 
mass  of  dishes  which  had  fallen  to  the  floor.  He 
called  Waters,  who  always  remained  discreetly  in  his 
little  kitchen  until  summoned,  and  told  him  to  look  for 
it,  but  Waters  was  unsuccessful.  A  thorough  search 
was  made,  the  room  was  ransacked,  but  without  suc- 
cess. It  had  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  X 

RICHAHD  found  Mrs.  Aladine,  Nina  and  Mr.  Ban- 
croft, waiting  for  him  before  the  Kenworthy  with  a 
motor  cab  which  had  been  passing  as  they  came  out. 
No  one  knew  why  it  should  have  been  necessary  for  him 
to  go  back  with  them,  but  he  got  in,  sitting  with  Mr. 
Bancroft  on  the  small  front  seats  and  they  returned 
to  Mrs.  Aladine's  house  almost  without  speaking,  each 
under  the  influence  of  the  unfortunate  contretemps 
which  they  had  had  a  part  in  and  each  of  the  others 
respecting  Nina's  evident  agitation.  Richard  spoke 
to  her  once,  but  she  barely  replied  to  him,  and  on 
reaching  the  house,  went  upstairs  immediately.  The 
two  men  prepared  to  go,  but  Mrs.  Aladine  would  not 
hear  of  it.  Her  eyes  were  bright  and  there  was  a 
flush  of  color  in  her  beautiful  and  delicate  face,  usually 
rather  pale. 

"  Must  you  go  ?  I  know  it  is  very  late,  but  I  am 
not  in  the  least  sleepy,  and  I  am  dying  for  a  cup  of 
tea.  Won't  you  wait  and  have  one  with  me,  Julien  ?  " 
she  said  to  Mr.  Bancroft,  and  seeing  him  about  to 
raise  his  hand  with  the  usual  gesture  of  protestation, 
she  continued  quickly,  "  to  please  me,  that  is,  unless 
you  are  very  tired." 

"I   never  have  breakfast   until   noon,"   he   replied. 

133 


134  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  It  was  because  I  thought  that  you  were  only  prompted 
by  your  usual  kindly  hospitality,  but  if  you  want  a 
cup  yourself — " 

"  Then  that  is  settled,"  she  answered.  "  Tea  will 
hardly  appeal  to  you,  Mr.  Whitely,  but  Jacob  will 
bring  you  whatever  you  want.  I  must  see  Nina  for 
a  few  moments,  but  I  shall  be  back  by  the  time  it  is 
made." 

Jacob  led  the  two  men  to  a  small  parlor  at  one  side 
of  the  great  hall,  where  he  left  them  after  replenishing 
the  fire  which  was  burning  dimly  in  the  grate.  Mr. 
Bancroft  sat  down  before  it,  but  Richard,  struck  by  the 
beauty  of  the  room,  moved  about  it  with  interest.  The 
walls  to  the  cornice  were  paneled  with  an  oak  wainscot- 
ing, evidently  very  old,  English  he  thought,  slightly 
worm  eaten,  with  the  mellow  tones  of  antique  woodwork. 
The  curtains  at  the  single  door  and  at  the  windows  had 
the  unmistakable  elegance,  faded  but  luxurious,  of  Gen- 
oese velvet  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The  furniture  too 
was  old,  beautiful  examples  of  English  mahogany. 
Two  vases  of  antique  Chinese  porcelain  and  an  old 
French  clock  stood  on  the  mantel  shelf,  and  on  each 
wall  hung  a  portrait,  clearly  by  the  hand  of  some  Dutch 
master.  A  sense  of  serenity  and  charm  was  given  by 
the  taste  with  which  this  old  furniture,  the  porcelains, 
the  paneling,  the  velvet  and  the  paintings  had  been 
assembled. 

"  This  is  a  wonderful  house,"  he  said  at  length, 
"  whose  taste  brought  all  this  together?" 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Aladine  both  loved  the  antique ;  the 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  135 

only  thing  they  had  in  common  —  by  the  way,"  answered 
Mr.  Bancroft. 

"  Were  they  unhappy  then?  I  think  I  have  heard 
that  he  was  much  older." 

"  Twenty-five  years,"  Mr.  Bancroft  replied  shortly. 
Then  he  continued,  "  She  was  unhappy.  Aladine's 
nature  was  far  from  being  emotional.  He  loved  his 
millions  and  his  furniture,  that  was  all." 

"  And  she  married  him  ?  But  why  ?  She  doesn't 
seem  to  me  like  a  woman  who  would  be  in  the  least  likely 
to  marry  for  money." 

"  She  is  not,"  Mr.  Bancroft  answered  more  shortly 
than  before. 

Richard  had  seated  himself  on  the  other  side  of  the 
fireplace,  and  with  his  legs  stretched  out,  looked  medi- 
tatively into  the  flame. 

"  Still,"  he  said,  "  Aladine's  millions !  a  strong  temp- 
tation." 

Mr.  Bancroft  did  not  reply,  he  seemed  anxious  to  drop 
the  subject. 

"  A  temptation  few  women  could  resist,  I  believe," 
continued  Richard,  "  even  the  best." 

Mr.  Bancroft  looked  keenly  at  him  and  then  seemed 
to  make  a  sudden  resolution. 

"  She  could  have  resisted  him,"  he  said,  moving  his 
chair  toward  Richard,  "  but  she  sacrificed  herself  for  her 
mother  —  and,  well  —  Aladine  did  have  a  way  of  get- 
ting what  he  wanted.  I  have  known  Mrs.  Aladine  ever 
since  she  was  a  little  girl  —  but  Storey  told  me  how  it 
happened.  Storey  was  in  the  park  one  day,  sitting 


136  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

on  a  bench.  He  has  never  told  me  why  he  goes  there 
but  I  know ;  he  goes  to  watch  the  children  sailing  their 
boats  in  the  little  lake  near  Fifth  Avenue.  He  loves 
children.  He  was  sitting  there  when  Aladine  happened 
along  and  joined  him.  They  had  been  talking  gener- 
ally about  business  matters,  until  Aladine  suddenly  said, 
"  '  The  Middle  States  Road  passes  into  my  hands  to- 
morrow, Storey.' 

"  *  You  have  come  to  terms  with  the  Boston  share- 
holders, then  ?  '  asked  Storey. 

"  '  They  have  come  to  terms  with  me,  rather,'  Aladine 
replied.  '  If  Dayton  were  living,  it  would  be  a  bitter  pill 
for  him  to  swallow.' 

"  *•  Dayton  knew  that  he  was  beaten,  that's  what  killed 
him  —  he  hardly  left  a  penny.  I  suppose  you  know 
that,'  Storey  said. 

" '  I  know  that  I  got  his  Middle.  States  stock,  I  don't 
know  what  else  he  had.  Look  here,  Storey,'  Aladine 
went  on,  *  Dayton  was  too  old  —  he  had  no  business  to 
try  conclusions  with  me  —  he  has  a  railroad ;  it's  his 
pet  —  a  magnificent  property,  well  managed  —  I  need 
it  to  complete  my  system.  If  Dayton  had  built  it  on 
purpose  to  sell  it  to  me,  I  would  have  given  him  twice 
its  cost  and  felt  grateful  into  the  bargain.  I  made  him 
the  most  liberal  offers,  "  No,  no,  wouldn't  sell."  I  asked 
him  to  name  his  own  terms,  "  No,  no,  wouldn't  sell."  At 
last  I  sent  Davidge  to  him  thinking  perhaps  that  he, 
with  his  oily  tongue,  might  accomplish  something.  He 
pleaded,  argued,  cajoled,  all  in  vain  and  at  last  he  said: 
"  Dayton,  Aladine  feels  that  with  the  Middle  States 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  137 

Road  in  your  hands,  his  own  position  is  not  as  strong 
as  he  would  like  it  to  be  —  let  me  advise  you  as  a  friend 
to  sell  it  to  him  —  I  think  he'll  get  it  anyway."  Day- 
ton got  angry  at  this.  "  You  tell  Aladine,"  he  said, 
"  that  he  will  never  own  the  Middle  States  Road  as  long 
as  I  live  —  he  hasn't  got  enough  and  he  could  not  beg, 
borrow  or  steal  enough  to  buy  it."  But  I  got  it,'  Ala- 
dine  went  on.  '  He  was  a  good  fighter  though ;  he  never 
cried  for  mercy  —  but  no  one  sympathized  with  him,  he 
had  done  to  too  many,  what  I  did  to  him.  He  was  a 
hard  man,  a  brutal,  domineering  old  man ;  his  wife  and 
daughter  had  not  lived  with  him  for  years,  I  am  told, 
they  couldn't  stand  him.' 

"  Now  comes  the  curious  part,"  continued  Mr.  Ban- 
croft, "  I  can  repeat  Storey's  exact  words  almost.  As 
Aladine  was  speaking,  a  young  lady  came  toward  them 
and  sat  down  on  a  bench  nearly  opposite.  Storey  and 
Aladine  gave  her  a  preoccupied  glance,  stopped  talking 
and  began  to  watch  her  with  deep  interest.  Uncon- 
scious of  their  scrutiny,  she  sat  almost  facing  them.  At 
times  her  hat,  which  slanted  down,  hid,  when  her  head 
was  bent,  all  but  a  mouth  and  chin  which  gave  them  an 
impression  of  gravity,  but  when  she  looked  up,  they 
could  see  that  her  eyes  were  very  soft  and  at  the  same 
time  brilliant.  She  did  not  stay  there  long,  looking 
about  her  as  if  expecting  someone,  and  at  the  approach 
of  an  older  woman,  who  walked  as  if  enfeebled  by  ill- 
ness, she  got  up  at  once  and  they  turned  a  corner  of  the 
path  together.  Her  movements,  her  walk,  the  folds  of 
her  black  dress,  the  slant  of  her  hat,  her  manner  of 


138  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

looking  down ;  all  of  these  things,  which  seemed  to  have 
something  markedly  attractive  and  individual  about 
them,  together  with  her  indisputable  beauty,  made  an 
extraordinary  impression  on  them.  Each,  like  all  men 
of  great  business  sagacity,  possessed  an  intuitive  fac- 
ulty of  appraisal  and  perhaps  they  recognized  that  there 
was  something  rare  and  therefore  valuable  about  her. 

" l  Storey,'  said  Aladine  all  of  a  sudden,  *  I've  made 
up  my  mind  to  marry,  and  there  goes  my  future  wife.' 

"  *  Very  appropriate,'  Storey  answered,  *  you  can  give 
her  your  Middle  States  stock  as  a  wedding  present.' 

"  *  Why  that  more  than  anything  else?  '  Aladine  asked 
himj 

" '  So  that  she  may  come  into  her  own  again,'  said 
Storey. 

"  Aladine  was  puzzled.  '  Look  here,'  he  said,  *  what 
are  you  driving  at?  ' 

"  *  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  don't  know  who  she 
is  ?  '  Storey  asked  him. 

"  '  I  never  saw  her  before  —  do  you  ?  ' 

" '  Yes ;  I  don't  know  her,  but  I  know  who  she  is.' 

"'Well,  who  is  she?' 

"  *  Dayton's  daughter.' 

"  Aladine  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  then  he  whis- 
tled. 

"  *  Dayton's  daughter ! '  he  repeated,  *  but  I  shall 
marry  her  all  the  same.'  That's  how  Aladine  first  saw 
his  wife.  Dayton  had  always  given  her  mother  a  liberal 
allowance,  but  at  his  ruin  she  found  herself  dependent 
upon  the  income  from  a  small  property  of  her  own 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  139 

amounting  to  less  than  two  thousand  a  year.  It  didn't 
improve  her  temper.  It  seems  incredible  that  Mrs. 
Aladine  could  have  been  the  product  of  two  such  people 
as  Dayton  and  his  wife.  Well,  Aladine  appeared  —  I 
doubt  if  to  this  day  Mrs.  Aladine  knows  that  he  ruined 
her  father  —  and  Mrs.  Dayton  finally  persuaded  her  to 
marry  him.  She  didn't  enjoy  her  new  found  luxury 
long ;  less  than  a  year  I  think  —  and  so  it  was  settled ; 
but  they  never  understood  each  other.  Aladine  bought 
her  because  he  wanted  her,  not  because  he  loved  her. 
That  was1  the  only  way  he  knew  how  to  get  anything  — 
by  buying  it  —  and  she  could  never,  although  I  could 
see  that  she  tried,  overcome  her  sense  of  reserve,  of  shy- 
ness caused  by  the  coldness  and  real  brutality  of  his  na- 
ture. I  have  often  wondered  what  the  outcome  would 
have  been  had  Aladine  lived.  You  see  Storey  began  to 
come  here.  He  and  Aladine  had  never  been  friends, 
Aladine  always  hated  a  bigger  man  than  himself,  but 
Mrs.  Aladine  appealed  to  Storey  from  the  first,  and  she 
liked  him  —  better  than  her  husband  without  doubt,  and 
Aladine  knew  it  and  would  sometimes  humiliate  her  before 
Storey  on  purpose.  Do  you  know  what  I  think  would 
have  happened  if  he  had  lived  and  kept  that  up  —  that 
sort  of  thing?  I  think  that  Storey  would  have  crushed 
him,  squeezed  him  dry  and  flung  him  away  like  a  used  up 
orange  —  would  have  ruined  him  as  he  had  ruined  Day- 
ton and  he  could  have  done  it,  powerful  as  Aladine  was. 
I  don't  mean  in  the  least  to  intimate  that  she  loved 
Storey,  because  she  didn't,  and  Aladine  knew  that  too, 
but  he  was  kind  to  her.  Aladine  showered  on  her  that 


140  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

which  was  dross  to  him  —  money  —  but  what  would 
have  been  gold  to  her,  he  couldn't  give  her.  Yes,  he 
used  to  hurt  her  before  Storey.  Storey  would  have  stood 
it  for  awhile  and  then  he  would  have  warned  Aladine  to 
stop.  This  would  only  have  made  Aladine  persist  in 
doing  it  even  more  than  he  had  before  and  then  some- 
thing would  have  happened.  Things  were  getting  very 
close  to  this  point  when  Aladine  died. 

"  The  doctors,  I  believe,  had  given  him  warning,  to 
which  he  paid  no  more  attention  than  he  would  have  to 
Storey's,  and  so  one  day  death  came  and  stood  before 
him  and  beckoned,  once,  and  as  a  child  at  bedtime  lays 
aside  its  toys,  Aladine,  that  relentless  man,  humbly  put 
away  his  schemes,  his  negotiations,  his  implacable  ha- 
treds, his  ceaseless  task  of  piling  millions  on  millions  and 
composed  himself  for  sleep.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Whitely, 
there  is  something  incomprehensible  to  me  about  death  ? 
We  see  our  friends  about  us,  they  come  and  go  as  we  do, 
eat,  sleep,  and  laugh,  enjoy  the  act  of  living,  and  all  at 
once,  he  beckons  and  something  takes  place:  they  are 
gone,  they  are  not  here.  What  is  it  that  happens  which 
makes  us  his  victims.  I  have  never  been  ill.  I  have  led 
a  life  of  moderation  in  everything.  Through  tempera- 
ment and  circumstance,  no  worries  have  fretted  me  and 
yet  each  year  I  am  getting  a  little  further  down  on  the 
debit  side  until  one  day  I,  too,  will  be  gone.  Why  I 
do  not  know." 

Mr.  Bancroft  paused  for  a  moment  and1  then  went  on. 
"  Yes,  there  is  something  mysterious  about  it.  Aladine 
was  ill  a  week.  One  day  he  said  to  his  wife,  *  I  am 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  141 

afraid  I  never  understood  you,  Constance.  You  are  a 
good  woman,  but  it  seems  to  me  you  always  wanted  some- 
thing which  I  couldn't  give.'  When  he  died,  he  left  the 
burden  of  all  those  millions  on  her  delicate  shoulders  — 
Storey  helps  her,  she  could  do  nothing  without  him  and 
he  worships  the  ground  she  walks  on.  Don't  think  that 
I  am  betraying  confidences  in  telling  you  this.  Everyone 
knows  it  —  your  cousin  could  have  told  you." 

The  sound  of  a  door  'being  closed  in  some  distant 
part  of  the  house,  came  to  them.  Mr.  Bancroft  drew 
his  chair  still  closer. 

"  The  question  many  people  ask  is,  will  she  marry 
again?  I  say  yes  —  she  is  young,  beautiful,  immensely 
rich  and  she  has  never  known  love.  But  God  help  the 
man  who  harms  one  hair  of  her  head  while  Storey  is 
alive."  A  note  of  solemnity,  perhaps  of  warning, 
sounded  in  the  old  man's  voice,  but  before  he  could  go 
on,  a  rustling1  of  skirts  sounded  in  the  passage  and  Mrs. 
Aladine  came  in. 

"  No  tea?  "  she  exclaimed,  "  and  nothing  for  you  to 
drink?  How  mournful  you  look,"  and  she  laughed. 
Richard  pushed  a  chair  up  for  her  and  she  sat  down  be- 
tween them. 

"  What  a  day ! "  she  went  on,  "  a  day  of  excitement 
and  adventure.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  Nina's  calamities 
and  Goeffrey's,  I  would  have  enjoyed  it,  I  think." 

"  How  is  Miss  Davidge?  "  Mr.  Bancroft  asked. 

"  Poor  child,  she  is  dazed.  But  she  is  angry  too, 
which  is  encouraging.  What  could  have  made  Goeffrey 
do  such  a  thing  on  the  very  night  of  his  engagement?  " 


142  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

'*  He  had  arranged  it  long  ago  and  had  quite  forgot- 
ten about  it,"  Richard  answered.  "  When  he  got  home 
to-night  and  found  the  table  laid,  he  was  amazed.  He 
thought  of  stopping  it  then,  but  it  was  too  late.  There 
is  no  harm  in  Goeffrey.  Is  Nina  such  a  little  Puritan 
as  that?" 

"I  told  her  that  it  could  probably  be  explained  in 
some  way.  But  I  am  afraid  she  won't  give  him  a 
chance.  Poor  Goeffrey.  And  how  contemptible  of  Mr. 
Pandolfi  to  take  us  up  there.  I  hope  that  I  shall  never 
see  him  again." 

Jacob  appeared,  bearing  a  tray  containing  cigars  and 
cigarettes,  the  tea,  several  decanters  and  a  cold  chicken. 
Mr.  Bancroft  confessed  to  being  hungry  and  attacked 
the  chicken  with  evident  pleasure.  Mrs.  Aladine  al- 
lowed a  small  slice  to  be  put  on  her  plate,  but  Richard, 
helping  himself  to  the  Scotch,  pleaded  a  complete  lack 
of  appetite,  having  just  finished  supper.  A  small  up- 
right stood  in  the  room  and  going  to  it  he  said,  looking 
back  at  Mrs.  Aladine :  "  May  I,  if  it  is  very  pianissimo?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  know  I  want  to  hear  you,"  she  answered. 
And  Richard  played  —  but  only  those  ephemeral  airs 
which  Goeffrey's  companions  had  heard  not  long  before. 
Richard  repeated  them,  running  from  one  to  the  other, 
little  lyrical  things;  gay,  with  their  undercurrents  of 
unconscious  ennui,  playing  them  very  softly  with  an 
elegance  which  gave  them  a  note  of  distinction  less  clever 
hands  would  have  been  unable  to  produce.  Mrs.  Ala- 
dine  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 
The  firelight  played  on  her  pure  profile,  the  peculiar  ele- 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  149 

gance  of  her  shoulders,  her  grace  of  movement.  Some 
subtle  exhilaration  seemed  to  animate  her  and  while  she 
talked  with  Mr.  Bancroft,  Richard  knew  that  she  was 
listening  to  him,  felt  intuitively  that  she  was  thinking 
of  him,  that  he  had  impressed  her. 

"  Let  us  hope,"  Mr.  Bancroft  was  saying,  "  that  that 
letter,  which  really  caused  all  the  trouble,  will  at  least 
be  of  some  help  to  Goeffrey." 

"  How  much  has  Goeffrey  lost,  Julien?  " 

"  Thirty  thousand  a  year  about." 

"  But  how  much  money  does  that  mean?  " 

"  Three  quarters  of  a  million,  perhaps.  It  would  de- 
pend on  how  much  it  earned." 

"I  was  thinking,  Julien,  could  I  give  it  to  him?  I 
have  so  much." 

Mr.  Bancroft  was  staggered. 

"  Do  you  realize  that  it  is  an  enormous  sum  of 
money?" 

"  Not  to  me.  Sometimes  when  I  go  over  my  affairs 
with  Vincent,  I  am  frightened  at  what  I  have;  at  the 
shares,  the  bonds,  the  mines,  the  railroads,  the  houses, 
all  the  things  that  are  mine."  She  drew  a  deep  breath. 
"  It  seems  to  crush  me  —  and  it  is  always  growing, 
greater  and  greater,  I  cannot  spend  it.  When  I  try  to 
give,  Vincent  is  very  strict  with  me  —  he  talks  about 
the  evils  of  indiscriminate  charity.  What  does  it  mat- 
ter if  it  makes  people  happy  —  why  can't  I  do  as  I  like 
with  my  own?  You  see  what  has  happened  to  Goeffrey 
—  if  I  could  give  him  what  he  has  lost,  everything  would 
be  as  it  was  before  —  and  they  could  marry." 


144  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Mr.  Bancroft  had  finished  his  chicken  and  had  lighted 
a  cigar. 

"  And  how  has  anything  changed  so  far  as  they  in- 
trinsically are  concerned?  If  they  love  each  other,  let 
them  marry  —  she  has  a  little." 

"  Five  thousand  a  year ;  it  would  be  hard  to  live  on 
that." 

"  Many  people  do,  and  not  badly.  But  the  point  is 
do  they  love  each  other?  " 

Mrs.  Aladine  was  looking  meditatively  into  the  fire. 

"  How  can  they  tell,  how  can  anyone  tell  what  love 
is  —  lasting  love.  It  seems  to  me  that  there  are  so  many 
emotions  that  take  its  disguise  or  else  so  many  kinds  of 
love  itself,  that  until  we  try,  we  cannot  know  the  per- 
manent from  the  fleeting."  She  turned  and  leaning  to- 
ward him  repeated,  "How  can  one  tell,  Julien?" 

*'  The  main  thing  is,  one  must  not  search  for  it,  I 
think;  it  must  come  of  itself,"  he  answered. 

"  Yes,  that  is  best,"  she  acquiesced,  and  she  got  up 
and  went  to  the  piano.  Richard  knew  that  he  had 
drawn  her  to  him. 

"  How  frivolous  you  are,"  she  said,  "  do  you  like  such 
music?  " 

"  Yes,  I  like  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  it  is  frivolous.  I  will  confess  to  you  that  I 
like  all  that  is  frivolous,  gay,  inconsequential  in  life  — 
I  told  you  that  rooms  affect  me  and  a  moment  ago  I 
thought  of  something  —  I  thought  I  saw  a  little  dancer 
in  chiffon  and  gauze,  dancing  in  the  cloister  of  one  of 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  145 

those  old  monastic  houses  one  sees  abroad.  This  room 
is  the  cloister,  my  music  the  little  dancer  dancing  in  it." 

"  You  don't  like  my  room,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  has  charm.  But  in  its  bare  simplicity,  in 
the  rigid  purity  of  its  furniture,  there  is  something 
austere.  That  is  why  I  play  music  which  is  frivolous, 
if  you  like,  because  it  brings  in  a  note  of  gayety.  An- 
other thing,  these  airs  were  running  in  my  head  because 
I  had  been  playing  them  at  Goeffrey's." 

"We  have  been  talking  about  Goeffrey,"  she  re- 
plied. "  Is  he  very  much  cast  down  ?  " 

"  Not  he !  He  intends  beginning  to-morrow  to  make 
another  fortune  and  when  he  has  made  it,  it  is  quite 
simple  you  know,  he  will  lay  it  at  Nina's  feet." 

"  You  are  making  fun  of  him." 

"  Not  at  all,  but  Goeff rey  is  an  enthusiast, —  not 
from  conviction,  but  by  temperament.  And  he  has  no 
knowledge  of  the  things  one  must  know  in  order  to 
make  money  — " 

"  He  has  his  profession." 

"  Learned  in  the  schools,  and  which  may  be  of  use  to 
him  after  he  has  unlearned  most  of  it." 

Mrs.  Aladine  laughed. 

"  It  is  lucky  for  Goeffrey  that  he  has  something  left, 
even  if  it  is  only  enthusiasm.  What  would  become  of 
him  were  he  as  pessimistic  as  you  are?  " 

"  I  am  far  from  being  a  pessimist,"  Richard  answered, 
"  but  I  have  learned  to  recognize  the  futilities  of  life. 
And  how  much  trouble  that  saves  one." 

Richard  still  played  on  and  Mrs.  Aladine  watched  him. 


146  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

His  profile  reminded  her  of  that  of  the  incomparable 
Hermes. 

"  Those  women,"  she  said  at  last,  "  who  were  they?  " 

"  They  were  actresses,"  he  answered,  "  friends  of 
Goeffrey's." 

"Did  you  like  them?" 

"  They  seemed  good  sorts,  but  you  must  remember 
that  I  had  not  met  them  before.  Still,  I  would  like 
them,  I  think,  because,  you  see,  they  live." 

"  Live !  Live ! "  answered  Mrs.  Aladine  with  a  touch 
of  impatience  in  her  voice,  "  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"By  living?  I  mean  enjoying  —  enjoying  that 
which  is  to  be  enjoyed  in  life,  if,  only  we  know  how." 

"  I  think  we  all  do  that." 

"  Perhaps." 

"  That  is  as  much  as  we  have  capacity  for." 

"  Precisely,  and  how  few  but  might  have  a  greater 
capacity  if  they  chose  —  a  capacity  for  being  sensible 
to  all  that  is  beautiful  and  joyous  in  life.  A  capacity 
for  being  able  to  respond  to  the  innumerable  things,  that 
if  we  know  them,  may  subtly  lift  us  above  our  fellows. 
To  have  the  sensibilities  to  feel  and  the  emotions  to  make 
poignant.  That  is  life.  How  many  live  it?  Do 
you?" 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said  and  then  she  added,  "  You  think 
that  I  do  not." 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  No !  you  think  that  I  do  not.  But  perhaps  I  do  — 
more  than  you  imagine.  You  think  that  I  am  austere 
like  this  room  of  mine." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  147 

"  Yes !  "  he  answered,  looking  straight  Into  her  eyes. 
"  Beautiful, —  but  austere." 

Mrs.  Aladine,  with  an  air  of  coldness,  made  a  move- 
ment as  if  to  turn  away,  but  Richard,  indicating  Mr. 
Bancroft,  whispered,  "  He  is  asleep,  let  me  ask  you  some- 
thing." 

Mr.  Bancroft  was  leaning  back  peacefully  in  his  chair, 
his  cigar  lying  on  the  table.  His  hands  were  folded  one 
over  the  other  and  his  eyes  were  closed.  He  did  not 
move  when  Mrs.  Aladine  softly  called  his  name. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  answered. 

"  I  should  like  so  much  to  see  more  of  your  house.  It 
is  celebrated,  as  of  course  you  know  —  I  have  heard  so 
much  of  the  tapestries  and  of  the  porcelains  you  have 
here.  Will  you  show  me  some  of  them  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  you  like,"  she  replied  still  coldly  and  they 
went  out  leaving  Mr.  Bancroft  still  resting  in  his  chair. 

She  led  him  slowly  through  a  number  of  small  rooms 
whose  single  lights  dimly  illuminating  them,  she  aug- 
mented by  pressing  the  buttons  of  the  electric  switches 
which  were  placed  at  the  sides  of  each  doorway.  Her 
coldness,  her  slight  air  of  hauteur,  gradually  left  her  as 
she  called  his  attention  to  various  objects  and  noticed 
the  intelligent  appreciation  of  his  answers.  In  turn  she 
revealed  to  him  a  varied  knowledge,  a  refined  and  fastid- 
ious taste  and  a  genuine  love  for  her  collections,  based 
on  a  sympathy  which  is  not  always  found  among  collect- 
ors whose  comprehension  of  what  they  possess  is  some- 
times more  archaeological  than  artistic.  Richard  was 
amazed  at  the  number  and  beauty  of  the  objects  he  saw. 


148  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  What  labor  the  collection  of  all  this  must  have  re- 
quired," he  said,  "  and  what  discrimination." 

"  It  is  my  greatest  happiness,"  she  replied.  "  But 
the  trouble  is,  that  finally  one  only  wants  superlative 
things." 

"  And  where  have  you  found  them  all  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh !  everywhere.  In  England,  France,  Italy,  even 
China.  I  am  abroad  so  much  —  When  I  find  something 
that  I  like,  my  agent  in  Paris,  a  very  honorable  man, 
buys  it  for  me.  Mr.  Storey  suggested  this  because  it 
seems  that  one  must  not  allow  oneself  to  pay  too  much 
for  anything  —  even  if  one  wants  it  very  much." 

They  had  come  now  to  the  large  drawing-room 
which  Mrs.  Aladine  illuminated  as  she  had  done  the 
others. 

"  This  is  the  Rembrandt  Mr.  Storey  loves  so  much," 
she  said.  "  What  is  it,"  she  continued  after  a  moment, 
"  that  makes  us  love  these  old  things  as  we  do  ?  We 
know  that  they  are  beautiful,  often  wonderfully  so,  but  is 
that  the  only  reason?  Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that 
in  addition  to  their  beauty  there  is  something  pathetic 
too  and  appealing  about  them." 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  Richard  answered,  "  and  with  reason, 
because  the  hand  of  man  will  never  make  the  like  of  them 
again.  He  has  forgotten  how.  They  are  the  products 
of  conditions  which  will  never  return.  They  are  what  is 
left  of  the  golden  age  of  art,  and  when  they  are  gone, 
there  will  be  nothing  left  to  teach  us  its  lesson.  It  is 
as  if  they  were  saying  to  us,  *  Learn  well  what  we  have 
to  tell  you  because  soon  our  voices  will  be  still.' '" 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  149 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  that  often  Americans  feel  this 
more  keenly  than  other  people,  because  we  really  have 
no  art,  no  literature  and  no  traditions." 

"  Nor  ever  will  have,"  he  answered. 

Suddenly  a  slight  cry  escaped  her :  "  Look ! "  she  ex- 
claimed, "  it  is  morning." 

They  were  standing  in  the  doorway  opening  into  the 
great  library  where  Pandolfi  had  announced  Davidge's 
flight.  No  lamps  were  burning  in  the  room,  and  a  pale 
light  came  in  at  the  windows,  illuminating  dimly  the  pi- 
lasters, the  books  and  the  painted  ceiling.  At  the  op- 
posite end  of  the  room  in  the  great  fireplace  of  black  and 
yellow  marble,  a  faint  line  of  smoke  ascended  slowly  from 
the  embers  smoldering  on  the  hearth.  Without  they 
could  see  the  trees  of  the  park,  standing  motionless  in 
the  hush  of  dawn,  and  far  on  the  other  side  the  build- 
ings raised  aloft  their  vast  cubes  of  masonry  in  which 
occasional  lights  still  gleamed  faintly.  Mrs.  Aladine 
did  not  illuminate  this  room  as  she  had  done  the  others, 
and  as  they  came  into  its  pale  light  they  seemed  to  step 
into  another  world,  a  world  of  shadows,  intangible  al- 
most, cool  and  serene.  They  talked  in  whispers.  "  Let 
me  play  you  one  thing  more,"  he  said  to  her,  "  and  then 
I  shall  go.  It  should  never  be  played  except  at  dawn. 
It  must  be  the  sort  of  thing  that  the  elves  dance  to  and 
if  you  go  to  the  window,  perhaps  I  shall  be  able  to  sum- 
mon them  for  you,"  and  he  began  playing  very  softly, 
Berlioz's  "  Dance  of  the  Will  o'  the  Wisps,"  from  the 
"  Damnation  of  Faust,"  and  Mrs.  Aladine  watched  him 
again,  noticed  again  his  profile  like  that  of  the  incom- 


150  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

parable  Hermes  and  noticed  too  the  extraordinary  im- 
pression of  elegance  and  modernity  he  conveyed. 

"  Do  you  see  them  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Aladine  turned  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
Suddenly  she  clasped  her  hands  together  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  delight. 

"Of  course  I  see  them,  how  charming.  There  is  a 
little  circle  of  them  dancing  hand  in  hand  on  the  grass, 
they  go  faster  and  faster.  But  there  is  something 
strange  about  them  too.  What  is  it  ?  Oh !  "  she  said, 
turning  to  him,  with  an  air  of  deep  disappointment, 
"  they  cannot  be  elves  at  all,  they  are  quite  modern  and 
smart.  They  wear  white  waistcoats  and  the  light 
twinkles  on  their  glossy  hats  and  theirj  shiny  boots ;  the 
ladies  are  in  ball  gowns  and  close  by,  there  are 
some  motors,  no  bigger  than  my  hand,  and  a  little 
brougham." 

Richard  laughed.  "  Now  you  are  making  fun  of 
me,"  he  said.  "  Let  me  try  again,"  and  he  began  some- 
thing which  sounded  very  sylvan,  simple  and  archaic. 

"  No !  they  don't  like  that,  they  have  vanished.  If  I 
could  play  as  you  do,  I  am  sure)  that  I  could  bring  them, 
but  you  are  too  modern  and  you  can  only  summon  some 
new  kind  of  fairies,  little  modern  people,  very  smart,  very 
well  dressed,"  and  suddenly  abandoning  her  bantering 
tone,  she  came  close  up  to  him  and  said,  "  Why  do  you 
think  that  I  am  austere  ?  " 

"  I  said  something  personal  to  you  a  little  while  ago," 
he  replied,  "  and  it  displeased  you.  If  I  am  to  answer 
you,  I  must  be  personal  again." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  151 

"  Very  well,  but  tell  me." 

"  I  did  not  mean  austere  exactly,  but  you  are  by  way 
of  becoming  a  preciense;  I  shall  speak  frankly  to  you 
because  you  have  given  me  permission.  You  have  a 
hobby ;  don't  have  one,  you  are  too  young.  It  is  all 
very  well,  for  instance,  that  you  should  possess  all  of 
these  wonderful  things  that  you  have  shown  me;  but 
they  should  be  yours  as  a  matter  of  course,  by  right 
of  your  wealth  and  position,  it  should  not  be  wonderful 
that  you  should  have  them,  you  should  not  be  absorbed 
by  them  as  some  old  savant  is  absorbed  in  his  investiga- 
tions. Besides,  you  have  something  more  beautiful  than 
all  of  your  paintings,  your  figurines,  your  porcelains, 
your  exquisite  furniture,  and  that  is  yourself  —  and  you 
have  youth  —  make  the  most  of  it." 

As  Richard  spoke  again  of  her  beauty,  a  slight  ex- 
pression of  disdain,  of  hauteur  returned  to  her  face  and 
noticing  it,  he  stopped  abruptly  and  got  up. 

"  I  have  been  very  thoughtless  to  have  kept  you  up 
like  this.  I  have  tired  you  horribly.  Forgive  me. 
Good-night,"  he  said  gravely  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Don't  go,"  she  answered.  "  Or,  perhaps  you  had 
better,  it  is  so  late  —  but  let  me  tell  you,  you  are  right 
—  I  understand  quite  well  what  you  mean  and  you  are 
right,  only  I  have  been  trying  to  fill  a  life  that  is  very 
empty." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  answered.  "  You  have  so  much  it 
seems  to  me  that  with  a  little  more  you  would  have 
everything." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  she  said,  "  and  for  that  little  more  one 


152  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

sometimes  feels  that  one  would  give  up  all  the  rest. 
It  seems  very  strange  that  I  should  talk  to  you  as  I 
have  done  •• —  until  this  afternoon  I  didn't  know  you." 

"  I  don't  know  why,  but  it  would  have  seemed  strange 
somehow  if  you  had  not  —  you  see  our  friendship  begins 
at  the  beginning  of  a  new  day.  Perhaps  that  is  a  good 
omen.  May  I  come  again  soon  ?  " 

They  shook  hands  and  she  turned  away  —  but  in  a 
moment  she  came  back  to  him.  She  half  put  up  her 
hands  as  if  to  offer  them  to  him  but  dropped  them 
again  at  her  sides.  She  looked  very  beautiful,  but  pale 
and  slightly  fatigued,  and  going  close  up  to  him  with 
an  air  almost  of  entreaty,  she  said  so  softly  that  he 
could  hardly  hear  her,  "  Yes,  come  soon.  And  —  and 
help  me.  You  have  helped  me  so  much." 

Mr.  Bancroft,  in  no  very  good  humor,  was  standing 
with  his  back  to  the  fire  —  rubbing  his  eyes  •. —  when  she 
returned  to  the  little  parlor. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  have  been  thinking,"  he  said, 
"  that  I  have  never  liked  men  who  play  the  piano." 


CHAPTER  XI 

HORTENSE,  Mrs.  Martel's  maid,  who  had  gone  in  quietly 
half  an  hour  before,  to  close  the  bedroom  windows, 
was  waiting  patiently  in  a  small  outer  passage. 
Suddenly  a  bell,  fixed  in  the  wall  above  her,  sounded 
twice.  Getting  up  quickly  and  repeating  this  signal 
somewhere  by  pressing  twice  on  an  electric  button 
in  the  wall,  she  opened  the  door  softly  and  went 
in. 

The  room  was  paneled  in  dark  gray  and  white  with 
a  quantity  of  small  mirrors  let  into  the  doors  between 
moldings  of  painted  wood.  These  mirrors  repeated 
with  pleasing  effect,  the  fire  burning  in  the  French  fire- 
place of  white  marble,  the  sconces  with  their  white 
candles  surmounted  by  tiny  electric  bulbs,  covered  with 
rose  colored  shades,  the  curtains  of  rose  colored  silk  at 
the  windows  and  at  the  bed,  the  French  furniture  of 
gilded  cane  and  the  rugs  of  white  Thibetan  wool.  A 
small  table  stood  beside  the  bed  on  which  rested  a  silver 
tray  containing  a  glass  pitcher  enclosed  in  a  network  of 
silver  wire,  a  decanter  of  Scotch  whiskey,  a  plate  of  bis- 
cuits and;  a  cigarette  case  of  gold.  On  a  shelf  immedi- 
ately below,  were  a  number  of  novels,  one  of  which  was 
open  face  down. 

Mrs.  Martel  was  still  in  bed,  her  beautiful  hair  piled 

153 


154.  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

up  on  her  head  and  tied  with  a  broad  rose  colored  rib- 
bon. 

"  What  is  the  thermostat  set  for?  "  she  asked  as  Hor- 
tense  appeared. 

"  Seventy  degrees,  madame,"  answered  Hortense  look- 
ing at  the  thermometer. 

Mrs.  Martel  reached  across  the  table,  displaying  a 
perfect  arm  and  an  elbow  as  smooth  and  round  as  an 
egg,  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"  My  pegnoir  and  slippers,  please.  Is  the  masseuse 
here?" 

"  Yes,  madame,  she  is  waiting  in  the  dressing- 
room." 

Slipping  on  the  pegnoir  and  letting  Hortense  adjust 
the  slippers,  she  disappeared  into  the  dressing-room, 
sacred  to  those  mysterious  rites  of  the  toilet  which  all 
women  perform  before  the  altar  of  their  charms. 

Hortense  rang  another  bell  and  a  maid  appeared 
to  put  the  room  in  order.  She  brought  with  her  a  num- 
ber of  letters  which  Hortense  carried  into  the  boudoir, 
an  adjoining  room,  and  laid  on  the  table  where  Mrs. 
Martel  breakfasted.  Drawing  it  up  to  the  fire  and 
placing  a  French  fauteuil  before  it  she  in  turn  dis- 
appeared into  the  dressing-room.  In  half  an  hour 
Mrs.  Martel  reappeared,  dressed,  but  still  wearing  her 
pegnoir,  and  at  the  same  moment  a  knock  sounded  at 
the  door  of  the  boudoir  and  Hortense  admitted  a  man 
servant  bearing  a  tray  on  which  stood  a  pot  of  choco- 
late, rolls  and  butter.  Mrs.  Martel  ate  one  roll,  drank 
one  cup  of  chocolate  and  upon  the  removal  of  the  tray, 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  155 

lighted  a  cigarette  and  was  about  to  open  her  letters, 
when  a  knock  was  heard  again  and  the  maid  appeared 
carrying  two  large  hat  boxes  which  Hortense  opened 
at  once,  taking  a  hat  from  each. 

Mrs.  Martel  got  up,  put  one  of  them  on  and  surveyed 
herself  in  the  glass. 

"  It  is  hideous ! "  she  exclaimed,  secretly  pleased. 

"  Oh !  no,  madame  —  on  the  contrary,  it  is  charm- 
ing," Hortense  exclaimed. 

She  took  it  off  and  was  putting  on  the  other,  when 
the  door1  opened  for  the  third  time  and  the  two  children, 
Helen  and  Lucas,  ran  in,  followed  by  their  governess, 
another  French  woman. 

"  Mamma,  Lucas  had  a  dream  last  night,"  Helen  an- 
nounced at  once,  coming  close  to  her  mother  and  look- 
ing back  smiling.  "  Tell  it,  Lucas." 

"  Yeth,"  Lucas  answered  with  a  slight  lisp  —  "  I  did. 
I  dwemt  that  Nellie  and  I  were  going  to  heaven  and 
Nellie  said,  *  mind'  your  manners.'  And  —  and  —  I  had 
a  box  of  candy  —  and  so  when  I  got  there,  I  said  to 
the  angel,  *  Will  you  have  a  piece,  Miss  Mary?  '  And 
she  said,  *  No,  thank  you.' ' 

Lucas  stood  rather  abashed  at  the  amusement  this 
story  aroused,  and  then  suddenly  throwing  himself  on 
the  floor,  he  laughed  louder  than  any,  partly  from  em- 
barrassment and  partly  from  sheer  joy. 

"  You  little  cherub,"  said  his  mother.  "  And  why  did 
you  call  the  angel  Miss  Mary?  " 

"  Why,  that  was  her  name." 

Helen  had  been  examining  the  hat  boxes. 


156  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"I  am  so  glad  your  hats  come  from  Carducci, 
mamma." 

"Don't  you  think  the  plume  is  much  too  long?" 
Mrs.  Martel  was  asking  Hortense,  and  Helen  went  on: 
"  Because  Edith's  mamma  says  that  he  is  extremely 
smart."  She  rested  her  elbow  on  the  top  of  the  bureau 
and  putting  her  chin  in  her  hand,  she  said  in  a  dreamy 
tone: 

"  Mamma,  was  Maline  the  most  beautiful  princess  in 
the  world?  " 

"  What  is  the  child  talking  about !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Martel. 

"  I  have  been  reading  them  a  fairy  story,  madame," 
the  governess  answered. 

And  Helen  added,  "  The  princess  Maline  lived  in  a 
tower  in  the  middle  of  a  plain  and  the  prince  came  and 
rescued  her  and  they  lived  happily  ever  afterwards. 
And  she  was  the  most  beautiful,  beautiful  princess  in 
the  world." 

"  Mamma,  may  I  play  with  this?  "  asked  Lucas,  hold- 
ing up  a  large  toilet  bottle  of  cut  glass. 

"  Yes,  my  child,  if  you  will  be  very  careful." 

"  Yes,  I  will  be  very  careful,"  he  answered  with  an 
ecstatic  expression  on  his  face,  at  being  allowed  to  hold 
such  an  enchanting  object. 

A  knock  sounded  again  and  Hortense  brought  Mrs. 
Martel  a  note.  On  seeing  printed  in  the  corner  of  the 
envelope,  Madame  Shea,  Modiste,  she  hesitated  to  open 
it,  but  finally]  did  so  and  read : 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  157 

"  DEAR,  MADAME  :  —  According  to  our  understand- 
ing with  you,  we  have  never  sent  bills  for  more  than 
half  your  account,  to  Mr.  Martel.  These  were  settled 
by  him  in  full  a  month  ago,  but  on  the  other  half  which 
you  have  always  promised!  to  pay  yourself,  we  have  had 
nothing  in  two  years. 

"  We  have  written  you  repeatedly,  but  you  have  never 
answered  us.  Unless  you  can  give  the  bearer  of  this 
note  your  cheque  for  $1,000.00  on  account,  we  regret 
to  say  that  we  shall  be  obliged  to  bring  suit  against 
you  immediately. 

"  Very  respectfully, 

"  MADAME  SHEA." 

Mrs.  Martel  made  a  gesture  of  impatience,  and  going 
to  her  writing  desk,  drew  out  a  cheque  book  and  was 
about  to  write  a  cheque,  when  a  crash  was  heard  fol- 
lowed by  a  complete  silence.  Lucas  had  let  the  bottle 
fall  on  the  hearth. 

His  mother  jumped  up,  increasing  her  irritation  by 
knocking  her  cheque  book  off  the  desk.  "  You  naughty, 
naughty  boy,  what  have  you  done?  Can  I  never  have 
one  moment's  peace !  Take  it  off  at  once,"  she  con- 
tinued to  Helen  who,  standing  before  the  glass,  had 
been  trying  on  one  of  the  new  hats.  "  Please  take  them 
away,  why  will  you  be  so  naughty?  " 

Lucas  with  the  pitiful  expression  one  sometimes  sees 
in  children's  faces  when  they  weep,  an  expression  which 
asks  for  love  and  consolation  instead  of  anger,  began 


158  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

to  sob  heartbrokenly  as  the  governess  led  them  out 
and  closed  the  door. 

"  Now,"  said  Mrs.  Martel,  "  give  me  the  cheque- 
book, please.  Do  you  know  what  that  impertinent 
woman  writes?  You  may  tell  the  person  who  is  waiting, 
that  I  shall  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  Madame 
Shea." 

She  handed  the  note  to  Hortense,  who  glanced  through 
it. 

"  But,  Madame,  you  cannot  give  her  a  cheque. 
Your  book  was  returned  by  the  bank  this  morning 
and  they  say  that  your  account  is  too  much  over- 
drawn." 

"  But  it  isn't  overdrawn,"  cried  Mrs.  Martel  with 
increasing  exasperation.  She  turned  over  the  pages 
and  showed  the  maid  some  figures  on  the  margin.  "  I 
have  twelve  hundred  dollars  there  —  they  are  your  own 
figures." 

"  But  they  are  very  accurate  at  the  bank.  Perhaps 
I  have  made  a  mistake." 

"  Very  well,  go  over  it  again." 

Hortense  sat  down  and  they  went  laboriously  through 
the  cheque  book,  from  the  date  of  the  previous  balance, 
Mrs.  Martel  reading  off  the  various  deposits,  and  Hor- 
tense deducting  from  them  the  cheques  which  had  been 
paid  out.  The  result  was,  with  the  difference  of  a  few 
dollars,  the  same  as  that  which  Mrs.  Martel  had  re- 
ferred to. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  latter,  "  I  can  perfectly  well  give 
Madame  Shea  a  cheque." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  159 

"  Still,  I  think  that  the  bank  may  be  right,  madame," 
the  maid  answered. 

"  How  can  it  be  right  ?  You  talk  like  a  fool.  Be- 
sides, if  they  are  right,  it's  your  fault.  You  are  sup- 
posed to  keep  my  accounts." 

Hortense  got  up  without  speaking  and  went  into  the 
bedroom.  Mrs.  Martel  followed  her  to  the  door. 

"  Why  don't  you  answer  me  ?  "  she  asked  angrily. 

'*  If  I  am  a  fool,  you  had  better  get  someone  else," 
Hortense  answered,  darting  a  look  of  resentment  at  her 
mistress  from  under  her  lashes. 

"Very  well,  you  may  go  whenever  you  like."  Mrs. 
Martel  returned  to  the  boudoir,  sat  down  before  the 
desk,  an  expression  of  sullen  resentment  on  her  face,  and 
began  to  again  go  over  the  figures  in  her  cheque  book. 
Presently  Hortense  returned,  picked  up  the  hats  and 
prepared  to  put  them  away. 

"  But  I  insist  on  knowing  definitely  whether  the  bank 
is  right  or  not,"  Mrs.  Martel  went  on.  "  That  woman 
is  waiting,  you  keep  my  accounts,  how  can  there  be 
such  a  difference  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  keep  madame's  accounts,  if  she  makes  out 
cheques  without  telling  me  and  does  not  put  them  down." 

"  Oh!  then  I  am  to  blame?  " 

"  We  shall  see,"  answered  Hortense.  She  took  from 
the  desk  a  bundle  of  vouchers  which  the  bank  had  re- 
turned with  the  bank-book  and  began  comparing  them 
with  the  entries  made  in  the  counterfoils  of  the  cheque 
book.  Four  cheques  remained  which  had  not  been  en- 
tered, aggregating  nearly  fifteen  hundred  dollars. 


160  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  You  see,  madame,  I  never  saw  these  cheques  before." 

"  Good  heavens,"  cried  Mrs.  Martel  pettishly,  "  I 
should  think  that  I  might  write  cheques  in  my  own 
book." 

"  But  I  cannot  keep  it  accurately,  if  you  don't  tell 
me  about  them." 

Mrs.  Martel  put  her  hands  to  her  ears. 

"  Good  God !  please  stop  —  you  will  drive  me  dis- 
tracted with  your  arguing.  Well,  I  must  get  rid  of 
that  woman.  Is  Mr.  Martel  at  home  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Hortense  answered  shortly,  and 
added  under  her  breath,  "  voyez  vous-meme." 

If  Mrs.  Martel  heard  this  rejoinder,  she  ignored  it, 
and  going  to  the  desk  again,  she  wrote: 

"  Mrs.  Martel  will  send  Madame  Shea  the  cheque  she 
asks  for  to-morrow  and  will  be  careful  not  to  employ 
her  again." 

She  handed  it  to  Hortense  and  as  the  latter  left 
the  room,  got  up  and  went  to  the  mirror.  Her  peg- 
noir  was  made  of  some  material  that  fell  in  very  many 
fine  straight  clinging  folds,  such  as  one  sees  sometimes 
in  the  draperies  of  Greek  statues ;  the  sleeves  were  short 
and  it  was  cut  so  as  to  display  her  perfect  neck.  She 
looked  very  beautiful,  very  alluring.  Should  she  wear 
it?  Should  she  make  that  appeal  to  him  by  which  she 
had  conquered  him  so  often  ?  Should  she  ?  No,  it  would 
be  base  now  —  before,  there  had  been  at  least  a  residue 
of  sincerity  in  those  appeals,  now  there  was  none.  And 
as  she  thought  of  those  coquetries  in  which  his  simpler 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  161 

nature  had  never  seen  one  trace  of  calculation,  she 
felt  ashamed.  And  as  she  thought  of  that  love  which  had 
come  into  her  life  again,  which  obsessed  her,  a  feeling 
of  momentary  sadness  seized  her  —  a  sadness,  without 
regret.  A  feeling  that  she  must  go  on  —  was  being 
carried  forward  by  a  force  dangerous  but  dear  to  her, 
which  she  gloried  in,  knowing  at  the  same  time,  its  peril. 

Hortense  coming  back,  she  put  on  a  street  gown  and 
went  downstairs.  Martel  was  in  his  study  standing 
before  a  window.  His  back  was  toward  her  and  his 
hands  were  thrust  into  his  pockets.  Against  the  light 
she  could  see  well  the  outline  of  his  compact  and  vigorous 
frame.  As  she  came  in,  closing  the  door  after  her,  he 
turned  without  speaking  and  looked  at  her  again  with 
that  indescribable  look,  out  of  his  intensely  blue  eyes, 
a  look  which  had  once  before  vaguely  disquieted  her. 
"  May  I  speak  to  you  for  a  moment,  Charles  ?  "  She 
sat  down  in  a  small  chair  and  rested  an  elbow  on  a  table 
beside  it.  He  too,  seated  himself.  "  It  is  not  pleasant, 
but  I  must  tell  you." 

"Very  well;  what  is  it?"  Martel  answered  quietly, 
coldly  almost,  but  he  seemed  to  listen  tensely  for  her 
answer. 

"  It  is  about  money."  Martel  seemed  to  hear  this 
with  relief  almost,  he  relaxed  slightly.  "  When  you 
asked  me  a  month  ago  for  a  list  of  the  people  I  owed 
money  to,  I  did  not  give  you  everything.  To  Madame 
Shea  for  instance,  I  owed  nearly  two  thousand  more  than 
I  told  you." 

"Are  thore  others?"  he  asked  her. 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment  in  order  to  overcome  that 


162  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

impulse  for  misrepresentation  which  had  become  habitual 
to  her  in  her  dealings  with  him,  but  it  seemed  to  her  that 
her  crowning  dishonesty  made  it  necessary  for  her  to 
be  truthful  in  smaller  things  at  least,  and  she  answered : 

"  Yes,  some  others,  but  Madame  Shea  will  be  quite 
willing  to  take  a  thousand  dollars  at  present." 

"  Let  me  have  all  the  rest  of  your  bills,  and  I  will  pay 
them.  Will  you  let  me  have  them  all?  "  he  continued. 

"  Yes,  Charles."  And  after  a  moment  she  added,  "  I 
am  sorry." 

"Sorry?" 

"  Sorry,  because  I  didn't  tell  you  the  whole  truth 
before." 

"  And  I  am  glad,"  he  answered.  "  Do  you  know 
why?" 

"  No ;  why  are  you  glad  ?  " 

"  Because  you  have  told  me  the  truth  now,  even  if  it 
is  a  little  late."  And  almost  gently  he  added,  draw- 
ing some  papers  towards  him,  "  Tell  me,  what  they  are." 

As  well  as  she  could  remember,  she  gave  him  the 
list,  concealing  nothing.  When  she  had  finished  he 
said: 

"  Is  that  everything?  " 

"  Yes,  everything." 

"  It  is  not  so  much." 

"  It  is  a  good  deal,  Charles,  are  you  sure  that  you  can 
afford  to  pay  them?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  you  see  I  borrowed  some  money  from 
Storey  a  month  ago,  and  I  have  some  of  it  yet." 

"  Were  you  compelled  to  borrow,  Charles  ?  " 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  163 

"  Yes ;  I  had  run  behind." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said  again,  "  because  • —  I  know  — 
that  I  have  been  the  cause  of  it." 

Neither  spoke  for  a  while,  and  then  Mrs.  Martel 
laughed  softly. 

"  I  must  tell  you  something  Lucas  told  me  this  morn- 
ing," she  said,  "  it  is  so  amusing."  And  she  repeated 
the  story  of  the  dream. 

Her  husband  smiled,  that  smile  which  showed  the  real 
Martel. 

"  He  is  a  good  little  chap,"  he  said. 

"  And  I  was  vexed  with  him  and  scolded  him.  He 
broke  one  of  my  toilet  bottles.  I  was  so  sorry  after- 
wards. It  seems  that  I  am  always  being  sorry  for 
something." 

Again  they  were  silent.  Their  house,  rather  far 
downtown,  was  in  a  quarter  on  which  business  was  en- 
croaching, and  through  the  closed  windows  sounds  of 
various  activities  came  to  them  faintly,  increasing  the 
sense  of  quiet  where  they  sat.  And  this  sense  of  quiet, 
of  security,  the  harmonious  outcome  of  their  interview, 
gave  them  a  feeling  of  nearness  which  was  pleasant 
to  them.  They  looked  at  each  other  furtively  and  there 
may  have  come  to  each  a  vague  longing  to  be  as  they 
were  before,  to  bridge  the  gulf  which  had  been  widening 
gradually  for  so  many  years,  to  stretch  out  their  arms 
far,  far,  until  their  hands  clasped  with  a  strong  pres- 
sure of  amity  and  forgiveness.  Perhaps  even  at  that 
moment,  the  love  which  obsessed  her  grew  faint  in  Mrs. 
Martel's  heart.  Faint  to  death.  Perhaps.  One  can- 


164*  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

not  tell  about  these  things.  But  Martel's  resentment 
had  been  melting  a  little. 

"  It  is  good  to  be  sorry,'*  he  said  at  last. 

"But  not  good  to  be  always  doing  things  one  must 
be  sorry  for,"  she  answered.  And  after  a  moment  she 
added,  "  Are  you  quite  sure,  Charles,  that  it  is  all  right 
about  the  bills?" 

"  Quite  all  right,"  he  answered  and  was  silent 
again. 

Suddenly  she  felt  that  he  would  speak  to  her  about 
Richard.  Since  Martel's  coming  upon  them  at  Mrs. 
[Aladine's  a  month  before,  she  had  barely  seen  her  hus- 
band. No  explanation  had  been  attempted.  Martel 
had  seen  them  together.  She  had  broken  her  promise. 
But  since  Richard  had  come  into  her  life  again,  that 
promise  had  seemed  such  a  preposterous  one  to  make, 
that  she  could  not  imagine  how  she  could  have  been 
expected  to  keep  it.  Should  she  make  it  again,  and 
break  it?  Perhaps  at  that  moment  she  was  ready  to 
make  it  again  —  and  keep  it.  But  not  if  he  spoke  to 
her  now.  She  felt  almost  like  being  won  back  to  him. 
If  he  would  be  kind  to  her.  But  she  also  felt  that  if 
he  reproached  her  then  —  there  would  be  an  end  for- 
ever. 

"  Dora,"  Martel  said  at  last,  "  we  have  settled  our 
money  matters, —  now  there  are  other  things  to  settle." 

She  looked  at  him  appealingly,  tears  came  to  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Charles,"  she  said  piteously,  "  must  we  talk  of 
that  again  now  —  it  tires  me  so  —  cannot  we  let  things 
go?  Let  me  try  to  prove  to  you  that  I  am  not  as  bad 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  165 

as  you  think.  We  have  spoken  so  often  about  it. 
Cannot  we  ignore  it  for  a  little  while?  " 

"  But  things  are  different  now,  something  else  has 
taken  place."  Something  he  could  not  resist,  impelled 
him  to  go  on,  to  make  her  discuss  it  with  him  —  make 
her  explain. 

"  There  is  something  to  be  accounted  for,  something 
to  be  said,  but  by  you,  not  by  me." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  say,  Charles  ?  "  she  asked 
wearily. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered. 

"  What  can  I  say  except  what  I  have  said  so  often  — 
that  I  am  sorry  ?  " 

"  If  one  could  be  sorry  enough  for  doing  things,  per- 
haps one  wouldn't  do  them.  People  sometimes  look 
on  being  sorry  as  a  sort  of  absolution,  a  plenary  in- 
dulgence permitting  them  to  do  them  again." 

"  I  see  —  and  I  am  like  that."  There  was  a  slight 
bitterness  in  her  tone. 

"  A  little,  I  am  afraid." 

"Yes;  and  that  is  the  trouble.  You  have  never 
trusted  me,  never.  You  have  always  thought  me  cap- 
able of  any  dishonesty,  any  falsehood." 

"  How  could  I  think  anything  else?  " 

"  Because  you  have  always  put  the  worst  possible 
construction  on  everything  I  did.  Because  you  were 
always  anxious  to  think  ill  of  me  —  would  have  been 
disappointed  if  you  had  found  that  you  were  wrong." 

"  But  I  found  that  I  was  right." 

"How  do  you  know  that  you  are  right?     I  tell  you 


166  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

that  you  are  not.  I  was  on  my  way  to  Mrs.  Aladine's 
that  afternoon  and  had  stopped  at  a  shop.  As  I  was 
coming  out,  I  met  him  —  I  didn't  know  that  he  was  here. 
He  asked  if  I  were  going  to  Mrs.  Aladine's  and  when 
I  said  yes,  he  asked  if  he  might  come  with  me.  What 
could  I  do?" 

"  More  lies,"  said  Martel. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  He  was  in  your  box  at  the  opera,  four  or  five  days 
before." 

"  That  is  not  true." 

"  It  is  true,  Dora,  and  you  know  it."  Martel  got  up 
quickly  and  exclaimed  vehemently.  "Why,  in  God's 
name,  why,  why  will  you  always  lie  to  me  —  why  is  it 
that  you  will  never  let  me  trust  you?  Can't  you  be 
honest,  don't  you  know  how,  don't  you  care?  For  God's 
sake,  tell  me  the  reason  ?  " 

Mrs.  Martel's  face  became  agonized  in  its  expression, 
like  one  enduring  torture,  like  a  creature  at  bay.  Her 
hand  shook,  and  trembling  with  nervous  excitement,  suf- 
fering and  pain,  she  answered: 

"Because  you  would  drive  any  woman  to  the  devil. 
Because  you  are  always  suspicious,  because  you  have 
always  misconstrued  even  the  simplest  things  I  do.  Be- 
cause you  have  always  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  be 
frank  with  you.  Because,  if  I  told  you  the  truth  always, 
you  would  never  believe  me." 

"How  do  you  know,  have  you  ever  tried?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

"  More  lies,"  Martel  repeated. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  167 

Suddenly  she  began  to  weep,  to  weep  terribly,  con- 
vulsively, with  long  mournful  sobs  which  racked  her 
body.  And  as  M artel  watched  her,  heard  those  sounds 
of  distress,  saw  her  tears,  something  thrilled  him,  a  feel- 
ing of  delicious  compassion  overcame  him,  an  ecstasy 
of  tenderness  and  love. 

It  was  always  so ;  while  she  resisted  him,  he  hated  her, 
but  when,  her  opposition  beaten  down,  she  wept,  he  felt 
always  an  irresistible  desire  to  take  her  in  his  arms  and 
dry  her  tears  with  kisses. 

Yes !  it  was  always  so  —  Martel,  impelled  by  some 
uncontrollable  impulse,  a  sort  of  ferocious  curiosity,  in- 
variably returned  to  the  same  topic.  Every  subject  — 
if  they  were  together  long  enough,  seemed  to  lead 
irresistibly  for  him,  to  that  of  her  dishonesty.  It 
agonized  him  and  yet  it  attracted  him.  Explanations 
followed.  Lies,  bitter  reproaches,  tears  and  then  those 
reconciliations,  which  meant  nothing,  led  nowhere,  which 
left  them  always  where  they  were  before.  And  now 
going  to  her,  he  took  her  hands  in  his  and  tried  to 
draw  them  from  her  face.  Sobs  still  shook  her. 
"  Dora,"  he  said,  gently,  "  forgive  me,  please,  please 
forgive  me  —  I  know  that  I  am  cruel,  but  somehow  I 
can't  help  it.  But  I  love  you  —  forgive  me  this  once  — 
I  swear  that  I  will  trust  you  —  that  I  shall  never  ques- 
tion — " 

Mrs.  Martel  jumped:  to  her  feet  and  threw  his  hands 
away  from  her.  "Who  is  lying  now?"  she  exclaimed 
through  her  tears.  "  You,  because  you  know  that  it 
would  be  impossible  to  do  what  you  promise.  And  I 


168  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

hate  you  —  you  have  tortured  me  too  much — -I  want 
you  never  to  touch  me  again  —  never  speak  to  me  —  I 
cannot  stand  it.  I  will  kill  myself  if  you  don't  leave  me 
in  peace." 

"  And  you  will  make  no  promise?  " 

«  Never  —  do  what  you  like.  For  myself,  I  don't 
care  what  becomes  of  me  —  I  would  rather  die  than  live 
the  life  I  have  been  living  any  longer." 

"  You  have  nothing  more  to  say,  Dora?  " 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered. 

"  You  are  quite  sure  ?  "  And  this  time  she  saw  again 
that  disquieting  look. 

"  Quite  sure,"  she  answered  defiantly.  "  You  cannot 
make  life  more  unbearable  for  me  than  you  have  done 
already." 

"Then  that  is  all?" 

"  Yes  —  all,"  and  she  went  out. 

Martel  made  a  movement  as  if  to  follow  her  and  then 
turning  went  back  to  the  window.  He  stood  there  for 
a  long  time,  motionless.  Yes,  it  must  be  ended.  He  saw 
at  last  the  specious  terms  on  which  their  lives  had 
been  going  on.  He  realized  that  it  was  partly  his  own 
fault  perhaps,  but  he  could  not  put  away  that  act  which 
td  him  was  the  cause  of  all  their  unhappiness.  Admit- 
ting that  his  own  treatment  of  her  in  the  past,  his  con- 
duct toward  her,  his  jealousies,  his  suspicions  may  have 
aroused  a  defiance  in  her  which  partly  palliated  her 
actions  —  there  was  that  act  which  he  could  never  for- 
get, never  forgive,  which  haunted  him  always.  Admit- 
ting everything  it  was  still  there,  could  not  be  put  away, 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  169 

and  in  the  final  reckoning  with  him,  she  must  answer  for 
it.  All  the  laws  of  marriage,  of  society  seemed  to  de- 
mand, to  justify  revenge,  punishment,  disgrace,  if  a 
woman  erred. 

A  slight  sound  caused  him  to  turn.  Hortense  was 
just  leaving  the  room  —  closing  the  door  gently  after 
her.  He  was  about  to  speak  to  her  when  he  noticed 
on  his  desk  an  envelope  which  he  knew  had  not  been 
there  before.  Perhaps  it  was  a  note  from  his  wife. 
He  went  over  and  picked  it  up. 

It  was  addressed  to  Richard  Whitely,  Esq.,  in  his 
wife's  hand.  He  turned  to  the  door,  locked  it  and  sat 
do\vn,  still  holding  the  letter.  He  looked  at  it  intently, 
sighed  deeply,  put  it  down  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands.  Finally  he  took  it  up  again.  He  seemed  to 
be  contemplating  an  action  which  was  hateful  to  him. 
He  looked  at  it  closely  and  saw  that  it  was  hurriedly 
and  carelessly  sealed.  He  reached  for  a  long  and 
slender  paper  knife  which  lay  beside  him,  inserted  it  into 
the  envelope,  withdrew  it  and  returned  it  to  the  desk. 

He  sat  quite  still  again,  thinking.  At  last  taking  up 
the  knife,  he  carefully  opened  the  flap  of  the  envelope, 
drew  out  the  letter,  read  it,  made  a  note  or  two,  returned 
it  to  the  envelope  and  refastened  it.  He  sighed  again 
deeply.  A  dark  flush  had  mounted  under  the  bronze 
of  his  skin.  He  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  took  up 
his  hat  and  went  out.  He  looked  old. 


CHAPTER  XII 

DAVIDGE'S  failure  proved  to  be  as  disastrous  as  the 
few  who,  like  Storey,  were  in  a  position  to  watch  his 
gradual  decline,  had  feared.  Succeeding  his  father  as 
head  of  the  house  many  years  before,  his  control  of  its 
affairs  had  been  absolute  and  unquestioned  and  when 
the  crash  came,  it  was  found  as  Pandolfi  had  said,  that 
the  bank  was  cleaned  out.  Where  its  assets  had  gone, 
what  Davidge  had  done  with  them,  could  never  be 
learned.  In  the  Street,  vague  rumors  were  heard,  faint 
whisperings  of  systematic  looting  by  someone  who  had 
gained  Davidge's  confidence,  and  Pandolfi's  name  was 
guardedly  mentioned  by  a  few,  also  in  the  Street;  but 
the  authorities  could  find  no  trace  of  anything,  except 
evidence  of  some  reckless  speculations  on  Davidge's 
part  which  accounted  for  but  a  small  portion  of  the 
losses. 

Every  effort  was  made  to  find  Davidge  himself,  with- 
out avail.  Foreign  ports  were  watched,  rewards  were 
offered,  his  photograph  was  sent  broadcast  to  no  pur- 
pose, and  as  the  weeks  wore  on  without  one  clue  to 
aid  in  solving  the  mystery  of  his  disappearance,  the 
hope  that  he  would  ever  be  found,  or  that  the  reason  for 
his  failure  would  ever  become  known,  died  gradually, 
for  even  his  letter  to  Goeffrey  had  vanished  completely, 

170 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  171 

although  a  most  thorough  search  had  been  made  for  it. 

So  Goeffrey  found  himself  with  thirty  thousand  at 
the  bank  and  nothing  else  except  his  personal  effects. 
Half  of  the  money  he  gave  to  Richard  and  after  selling 
his  motor  car  and  a  few  of  his  exceptionally  fine  pieces, 
he  took  stock  of  the  furnishings  of  his  rooms. 

Waters  had  been  snatched  away  with  astonishing 
quickness  by  some  friend  of  Goeffrey's,  who  had  long 
appreciated  his  talents. 

"  I  hate  to  sell  all  this  stuff,  Dick,"  he  said  one  day 
as  he  was  preparing  to  move  to  less  expensive  quarters. 
He  was  sitting  astride  a  chair  and  was  fingering  a  cur- 
tain of  old  green  damask.  "  It's  really  worth  a  lot  of 
money." 

"  Then  sell  it  for  a  lot  and  save  storage,"  Dick  an- 
swered. "  Have  you  had  any  offers  ?  " 

"  That's  the  trouble.  I  used  to  have  before  this 
beastly  smash  came,  for  a  lot  of  it,  but  now  people  all 
seem  to  have  changed  their  minds." 

"  They  think  they  can  get  it  for  less,  I  suppose,"  his 
cousin  replied  sententiously.  "  That's  usually  the  way. 
It  does  seem  a  pity  though,  because  you  have  got  some 
really  good  things." 

"  Good  things !  I  should  say  I  had.  Have  you  ever 
seen  a  table  to  equal  that  ?  The  one  inlaid  with  tortoise 
shell  and  silver?  Have  you  ever  seen  Wedgewood 
more  beautiful  than  mine?  Have  you  ever  seen  a  col- 
lection of  French  watches  finer  than  mine,  considering 
its  size?  " 

"Well,   don't   sell  them   then,   keep   them  yourself. 


178  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Besides,  fifteen  thousand  dollars  can  be  made  to  last 
a  good  while  and  before  that's  gone,  something  may  turn 
up." 

"That's  what  I'll  do,"  Goeffrey  answered.  "I'll 
use  as  much  as  I  can  in  my  new  place  and  have  the 
rest  stored." 

He  got  up  and  began  emptying  some  book  shelves, 
putting  the  books  in  a  packing  box  which  stood  beside 
them.  "  By  the  way,"  he  said  presently,  "  where  will 
you  go,  when  I  leave  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Richard  from  his  place,  on 
the  sofa.  "  I'll  find  a  little  kennel  somewhere." 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  —  I'd  like  to  have  you?  " 

"  Thanks,  no,  Goeffrey.  As  they  say  here,  we've  got 
to  hustle  for  ourselves,  and  I  think  that  we  would  each 
get  on  better  alone.  By  the  way,  I  saw  Pandolfi  to-day, 
he  told  me  about  a  good  speculation  in  stocks." 

"  Well,  don't  touch  it,"  said  Goeffrey  shortly. 

"  No  fear,"  answered  his  cousin.  "  They  say  you 
know  that  he  knows  something  about  Davidge's  failure." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  Goeffrey  replied,  "  but  they  will 
never  connect  him  with  it,  he's  too  clever." 

"  Perhaps  that  explains  his  dislike  of  you.  Per- 
haps he  hated  you  because  he  knew  he  was  ruining  you, 
instead  of  ruining  you,  because  he  hated  you." 

"  I  don't  think  it  had  anything  to  do  with  it  one  way 
or  the  other,"  Goeffrey  answered.  "  My  money  hap- 
pened to  be  in  Mr.  Davidge's  care,  so  I  lost  it  as  others 
did  theirs." 

"  It  does  seem  absurd  and  yet  in  some  of  those  South- 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  173 

era  Italians,  one  will  sometimes  run  across  wild  primitive 
traits,  even  in  the  educated  ones,  which  have  survived 
through  the  ages.  Take  his  bringing  Nina  up  here 
that  night.  He  was  jealous  of  your  success  with  Doris, 
so  he  struck  back  at  you." 

"  Yes,  I've  heard  that,"  answered  Goeffrey,  "  but  I 
don't  believe  that  Doris  was  concerned  in  it  in  that  way 
—  she's  nothing  to  him." 

Richard  looked  at  his  cousin  and  smiled  oddly,  but 
Goeffrey  was  busy  putting  his  books  carefully  in  the 
packing  case  and  did  not  notice. 

"  By  the  way,"  Richard  asked  after  a  moment,  "  have 
you  seen  her  lately  ?  " 

"Who?" 

"  Doris." 

"  Not  since  that  night." 

"Really?" 

Goeffrey  looked  up  in  surprise.  "  No ;  why  shouldn't 
I  tell  you  if  I  had?" 

"  Nothing  —  she's  very  nice,  that's  all,"  his  cousin 
answered. 

But  not  long  after  this  Goeffrey  did  see  Doris.  He 
had  taken  the  second  floor  of  an  old  house  on  one  of  the 
side  streets  not  far  from  Fifth  Avenue.  The  quarter 
was  undergoing  one  of  those  changes  in  character  which 
happens  so  frequently  in  New  York  and  rents  were  low 
on  short  leases. 

The  large  front  room  he  had  made  into  his  work 
shop.  Four  draughting  tables  occupied  the  floor  and 
a  quantity  of  T  squares  and  triangles  hung  on  the 


174  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

walls  in  company  with  numerous  photographs  of  cele- 
brated foreign  buildings.  A  large  chest  of  drawers  had 
been  set  up  in  which  to  keep  drawings,  and  an  air  of 
extraordinary  cleanness  and  emptiness  pervaded  the  en- 
tire place.  The  room  immediately  behind  this  was  to 
be  used  for  the  reception  of  clients  during  business  hours 
and  as  an  office  for  Goeffrey ;  and  at  night  as  a  sitting- 
room  or  library.  Still  behind  this  in  an  extension,  was 
his  bedroom  and  bath.  In  his  sitting-room  he  had 
crowded  the  chiefest  of  his  treasures  and  it  was  here 
one  night  soon  after  he  was  settled,  that  Doris  came 
to  see  him. 

He  had  come  in  from  an  early  dinner  and  had  been 
sitting  alone,  as  he  had  done  repeatedly  of  late,  think- 
ing of  Nina  whom  he  had  not  seen  since  the  night  of 
his  party.  He  had  tried  desperately  to  do  so,  but  she 
was  obdurate  and  had  finally  left  town  with  Aunt  Mary 
and  the  children,  to  remain  until  the  excitement  which 
followed  her  father's  failure  had  passed  away.  For 
nearly  a  month,  he  had  seen  no  one.  Feeling  that  his 
former  life  was  of  a  character  which  was  incompatible 
with  a  serious  occupation,  and  as  there  seemed  to  him 
to  be  no  other  reasons  than  social  ones,  for  seeing  his 
friends,  he  began  his  professional  career  by  promptly 
dropping  them  —  and  stopping  at  home  evenings.  At 
times  he  felt  very  lonely,  hoped  that  every  foot  on  the 
stairs  might  mean  a  visitor,  and  as  he  heard  them  pass 
his  door,  indulged  in  reproachful  reflections  on  the  in- 
stability of  friendship,  forgetting  that  hardly  anyone 
had  been  told  his  new  address.  But  most  of  the  time 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  175 

he  thought  of  Nina,  of  how  he  had  gained  her  and  lost 
her  —  lost  her  when  he  had  most  need  of  her.  How 
much  easier  it  would  be  for  him  now  if  he  could  have  her 
sympathy  and  encouragement.  "  Love  and  sympathy," 
that  is  what  he  had  offered  her.  Had  she  given  him 
either  in  return?  And  had  there  been  love  and  sym- 
pathy, would  not  forgiveness  have  walked  hand  in  hand 
with  them?  Had  she  chosen  the  better  part  —  was  it 
quite  worthy  of  a  character  as  noble,  as  wonderful,  as 
beautiful,  as  admirable,  as  hers?  But  no,  he  must  not 
reproach  her,  he  had  no  right,  because  the  fault  had 
been  his.  But  life  seemed  very  hopeless.  He  looked 
about  him,  it  was  very  still  in  his  rooms.  How  lonely 
it  was.  Love,  friendship,  money,  all  had  gone,  nothing 
was  left.  Suddenly  he  heard  light  steps  ascending  the 
stairs  quickly,  a  knock  sounded  on  his  door  and  opening 
it  he  saw  Doris  standing  there. 

"Alone?  "  she  asked.  She  came  in  at  once,  shut  the 
door  herself,  locked  it  and  sat  down  before  the  fire. 
She  seemed  a  little  out  of  breath  as  if  she  had  been  hurry- 
ing. Goeff rey  seized  both  her  hands  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  Doris,"  he  said,  "  how  glad,  how  glad  I  am  to 
see  you." 

"  Are  you  surprised?  "  she  asked  after  a  moment. 

"  Oh,  yes !  surprised  and  delighted,  more  than  I  can 
say." 

He  caught  her  hands  again  and  they  smiled  into  each 
other's  eyes. 

"  Are  you  really  glad,  Goeff  rey  ?  " 

"  Yes,  awfully  glad.     You  see  it's  rather  lonely  here 


176  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

at  times.  What  put  it  into  your  head  to  take  pity  on 
me?" 

"  I  don't  know,  perhaps  because  I  wondered  if  you 
needed  friends  now  —  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  always  need  friends  like  you,  and  then  I  take  it 
that  your  coming  here  is  a  sign  that  you  have  forgiven 
me." 

"  Yes,  you're  forgiven." 

"  And  you  are  coming  often?  Everything  is  to  be  as 
it  was  before?  This  is  even  a  better  place  than  the 
other.  No  danger  of  people  telling  tales  here.  At 
night  the  whole  building  is  empty." 

Doris  flushed. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  not  come  often,  I  shall  not  come 
at  all." 

"Oh,  Doris,  why  not?" 

Doris  jumped  up  and  went  quickly  to  the  door.  "  I 
am  going,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  with  her  hand  on  the 
knob,  "  you  always  hurt  me." 

"  But  Doris,  what  have  I  done,  I  don't  understand?  " 

"I  just  stopped  here  for  a  moment  to  see  how  you 
were  getting  on.  You  are  engaged  to  be  married  and 
you  ask  me  to  come  often.  You  wouldn't  ask  any  other 
woman  you  know  to  do  that  here  in  this  house  alone. 
But  I  don't  count." 

"Oh!"  said  Goeffrey,  "but  didn't  you  know  that 
everything  is  ended  —  that  I  haven't  seen  her  since  that 
night?" 

"  Oh,  Goeffrey !  "  exclaimed  Doris.  "  I  hadn't  heard." 
And  sympathy  and  compassion  sounded  suddenly  in 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  177 

her  voice.  "  Forgive  me  for  being  so  irritable.  You 
see  you  do  need  friends  —  real  ones.  The  others  won't 
bother  about  you  now  that  you  are  poor." 

"  But  Miss  Davidge  isn't  like  that,"  answered  Goef- 
frey,  "  she  was  offended  because  I  — " 

"  You  needn't  mind  going  on,"  she  continued  as  Goef- 
frey  hesitated  — "  she  was  offended  because  you  had 
me  there  and  Irma  and  Pauline  and  the  others  —  and 
just  at  the  time  you  need  help  and  encouragement,  she 
can  think  of  nothing  except  the  injury  to  her  own  feel- 
ings. She  had  an  opportunity  she  couldn't  afford  to 
miss,  I  should  say,  and  so  she  took  advantage  of  it." 

"  I  won't  listen  to  you,  Doris,  if  you  say  such  things," 
protested  Goeffrey  —  "  they're  unjust  and  unfair." 

"  They're  not,"  she  answered.  "  I  like  the  other 
lady,  the  one  who  was  tall,  and  beautiful,  and  delicate, 
but  Miss  Davidge  looked  at  us  so  coldly  and  haughtily, 
I  tell  you  she  is  heartless." 

"  And  you  talk  about  your  friendship  for  me,  and  can 
say  things  like  that,  Doris  —  when  you  must  know  how 
it  hurts  me?  —  Don't  you  realize  that  I  have  had  that 
same  doubt  and  that  if  I  didn't  fight  against  it,  if  I 
accepted  it  as  true,  life  wouldn't  be  worth  living?  And 
now  you  come,  my  friend,  and  instead  of  giving  me 
courage,  you  try  to  make  me  lose  faith  in  the  woman  I 
love." 

Doris  did  not  answer.  They  had  seated  themselves 
before  the  fire  again  and  she  was  looking  into  it  from 
under  the  brim  of  her  hat.  She  moved  slightly,  but  did 
not  speak. 


178  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Is  that  an  act  of  friendship,  Doris  ?  '*  Goeffrey  asked. 

"  It  is  an  act  of  — "  she  began  and  was  silent  again. 
Suddenly  she  turned  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  "  I'm  sorry." 

Goeffrey  took  it  and  they  sat  in  this  way  for  some 
moments.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  looked  at  him 
furtively  from  time  to  time  and  that  more  than  once 
she  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  to  him. 

At  last  she  said,  "  Are  you  sure  you  love  her,  Goef- 
frey? " 

"  Of  course,"  he  answered,  "  of  course  I'm1  sure." 

After  another  pause,  she  drew  her  hand  gently  from 
his  and  sat  straight  up  in  her  chair. 

"  And  now,"  she  said  in  a  brisk  matter  of  fact  voice, 
'*  how  are  you  getting  on  ?  " 

"  Not  very  well  —  no  commissions  yet." 

"  Aren't  your  friends  giving  you  anything  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  seen  any  of  them." 

"  Oh,  Goeffrey !  how  foolish  you  are.  You  must  see 
them.  They  will  forget  you  if  you  let  them." 

"  Then  they're  not  worth  having.  They  know  that 
I  have  begun  to  practice  my  profession,  and  if  they  want 
to  employ  me,  it's  easy  enough  to  find  me." 

Doris  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  haven't  even  told 
them  where  you  live  ?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't." 

"  You're  a  child !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  That's  all,  just 
a  child.  You  need  someone  to  tell  you  what  to  do  — 
you  must  be  more  enterprising.  There  are  other  men 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  179 

who  won't  wait  to  be  found;  they  will  go  and  get  work 
while  you  are  waiting  for  it  to  come  to  you.  Don't 
you  see  that  you  must  be  more  like  the  others  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  he  assented,  "  but  the  thought  of  it 
is  awfully  unpleasant  somehow.  Still  —  I  can't  see  why 
I  shouldn't  make  money ;  other  people  do,  almost  every- 
body —  you  make  it,  Doris  —  you  must  make  a  lot,  I 
think  —  what  a  charming  little  gown  that  is.  Are  you 
still  in  the  'Mermaid?'" 

"  No,"  she  answered  after  a  moment's  hesitation  — 
"  that  ended  a  month  ago.  I'm  not  doing  anything 
now." 

"  But  you  will  get  something  of  course,"  Goeffrey 
replied.  "  You're  such  a  clever  little  person." 

"  I'm  not  clever,  Goeffrcy  —  I'm  very  nice  of  course, 
but  I'm  an  awfully  poor  actress.  It  isn't  easy  for  me 
to  get  work  either." 

"  Oh,  but  you  must.  What  would  you  do  if  you 
couldn't  be  always  the  same  delightful  Doris,  with  your 
pretty  gowns  and  hats  and  boots  and  gloves  —  it's  quite 
unthinkable." 

"  Well,  you  see  I  have  a  little  income,  a  very  tiny  one 
and  that  helps."  Suddenly  she  cried,  "  Oh,  Goeffrey ! 
how  I  should  love  to  take  you  to  my  dressmaker  in 
Paris  —  everything  I  have  comes  from  her  —  I  must  go 
there  soon,  somehow.  She's  a  little  old  woman  with  a 
crooked  back,  but  she  has  the  soul  of  an  artist.  She 
loves  to  make  my  clothes  —  because  she  loves  me. 
She  says  that  I  am  more  chic  than  anyone.  Do  you 
think  it  wicked  to  love  beautiful  clothes  ?  " 


180  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Of  course  it  isn't." 

"  But  I  love  them  so  much  that  I  couldn't  live  with- 
out them.  Oh,  Goeffrey!  if  you  could  only  be  in  my 
beautiful,  beautiful  Paris  some  day  when  I  am  there,  I 
would  take  you  to  her.  She  loves  to  talk  about  me,  and 
you  would  hear  from  her  how  good  and  how  nice  I  am 
—  would  you  like  that  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  but  Paris  seems  a  long  way  off  now,  Doris, 
we  must  both  work  and  make  money  and  then  we  can  go 
there." 

Doris  clinched  her  fists  and  shook  them  at  the  ceil- 
ing. "  Oh !  oh !  oh !  if  I  were  only  rich,"  she  said,  "  if 
I — "  Someone  knocked  sharply  on  the  door  and  she 
started  up  in  terror. 

"Wait,"  said  Goeffrey.     "Who  is  it?"  he  called. 

"  Mr.  Bancroft,"  said  an  old  man's  voice  through  the 
Jdoor. 

"  It's  all  right,  Doris,  let  me  let  him  in  —  he  will 
never  say  anything  to  anyone,  then  you  may  go.  I  as- 
sure you  it's  all  right." 

"  And  so  the  young  lady  would  like  to  be  rich,"  Mr. 
Bancroft  observed,  as  Goeffrey  introduced  him  and  pro- 
ceeded to  help  him  off  with  his  overcoat.  "  Let  me  ad- 
vise you,  Goeffrey,  to  have  a  heavier  door  put  on,  that 
one  is  much  too  thin  —  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  for 
intruding,  but  I  promised  to  deliver  a  message  to  Mr. 
Hunter  to-night,  if  I  could,  so  I  came  down  here  on  my 
usual  nocturnal  prowl.  If  you  are  to  be  in  later,  Goef- 
frey, I  can  stop  on  my  way  uptown." 

"  Oh,  please  don't,"  Doris  protested.     "  I  was  jusi 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  181 

going,  I  had  only  stopped  in  to  see  Goeffrey  for  a  mo- 
ment and  I  stayed  longer  than  I  had  expected  to." 

"  I  quite  understand,"  Mr.  Bancroft  answered  with  a 
bow.  "  There  are  people  whom  one  always  stays 
longer  with  than  one  intends  —  Goeffrey  is  one  of  them 
and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  you  were  another." 

Doris  gave  him  a  brilliant  smHe  and  went  out  on  the 
landing,  Goeffrey  following  her  and  closing  the  door 
after  him. 

"  You  don't  know  how  you've  cheered  me  up,"  he  said. 
"  Won't  you  come  again  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  won't." 

"  Please,  Doris." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Goeffrey,"  she  answered 
gravely.  "  I'll  come  until  you  are  friends  again  —  do 
you  understand  —  I  mean  you  and  she." 

"  I  understand  —  that's  something  anyway  —  come 
soon,  will  you?  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  —  and  Goeffrey  —  be  a  little  more 
practical  —  run  about  and  see  people  —  you  will  never 
get  anything  to  do  moping  alone  here." 

"  All  right,  don't  worry,  I'll  be  building  one  of  your 
giants  before  you  know  it." 

Doris  put  her  hand  to  her  head. 

"  No !  no !  "  she  protested  and  then  she  added  —  "  but 
yes,  anything  if  you  can  only  make  money.  Good- 
night." 

"  Good-night,  Doris." 

Goeffrey  came  back,  locked  the  door,  sat  down  before 
the  fire  where  Mr.  Bancroft  had  already  seated  him- 


182  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

self  and  seemed  about  to  say  something,  when  the  old 
gentleman  raised  his  hand. 

"Explanations  are  quite  unnecessary,  my  dear  boy. 
There  are  some  men  whose  presence  here  with  that  young 
lady  would  mean  but  one  thing  —  you  are  not  one  of 
them." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Goeffrey. 

"  But  I  will  tell  you  who  is  —  that  piano  playing 
cousin  of  yours.  I'm  going  to  talk  plainly  to  you,  Goef- 
frey, I  hope  it  wont  offend  you  —  what  do  you  know 
about  him  ?  " 

"  Almost  nothing,"  answered  Goeffrey ;  "  until  he 
came  here,  I  had  not  seen  him  for  years." 

"  Well,  I  have  been  looking  a  little  into  the  career  of 
Mr.  Richard  Whitely,"  the  old  man  went  on  with  a  tone 
of  peculiar  resentment  in  his  voice,  "  and  I  have  found 
that  his  life  abroad,  for  a  number  of  years,  has  been 
that  of  an  idler,  a  spendthrift,  a  gambler  and  a  seducer 
of  women.  The  immediate  reason  for  his  coming  here 
was  to  get  away  from  the  wrath  of  a  man  whose  friend- 
ship he  had  tried  to  betray." 

"  He  told  me  about  that,"  interrupted  Goeffrey,  "  but 
he  said  that  the  woman  lied  to  her  husband  about  him, 
out  of  pique." 

"  Did  you  believe  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,  I  didn't,  I  don't  know  why  exactly,"  Goef- 
frey answered. 

"  No,  nor  would  anybody  else,"  rejoined  Mr.  Bancroft 
shortly,  "  but  that  is  only  one  incident  —  I  have  many 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  183 

and  some  day  I  may  make  it  rather  too  hot  for  him  to 
stay  here  with  any  sort  of  comfort." 

"  But  I  am  sure  that  Richard  isn't  bad  at  heart,"  said 
Goeffrey.  "  The  things  you  mention,  many  men  do. 
If  he  hasn't  been  guilty  of  anything  really  criminal,  I 
don't  see  how  you  would  be  justified  in  repeating  scan- 
dalous stories  about  him,  sir,  really  I  don't,  no  matter 
how  true  they  might  be." 

"  It  is  true,"  the  old  gentleman  answered,  "  that 
among  the  men  you  and  I  know,  there  are  some  who  do 
all  the  things  that  I  have  mentioned,  they  are  our 
friends  sometimes,  go  where  we  go,  know  our  women. 
The  first  three  types  do  little  harm  to  any  except  them- 
selves perhaps,  but  if  the  seducer  of  women  began  to 
practice  his  beastly  arts  on  one  you  loved,  began  to 
weave  his  net  of  fascination  about  her,  what  then  ?  " 

"  But  how  — "  began  Goeffrey. 

"  You  are  going  to  ask  how  it  could  concern  me,  an 
old  man,  unmarried,  with  no  ties  of  kindred  —  I'll  ex- 
plain, but  before  I  do,  let  me  tell  you  of  a  thing  that 
happened  not  long  ago.  I  was  taking  my  evening  walk 
as  I  always  do,  as  you  know,  but  on  this  occasion  it 
was  earlier  than  usual.  I  have  no  special  route,  some- 
times I  go  in  one  direction,  sometimes  in  another,  but  on 
this  night  I  had  gone  up  Broadway  and  turned  West. 
The  quarter  I  found  myself  in  was  rather  a  dubious  one 
and  the  street  at  this  point  was  quite  deserted,  except 
that  a  public  cab  was  waiting  close  to  the  curb,  about 
midway  in  the  block.  As  I  reached  this  point  on  the 


184  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

opposite  side  of  the  street,  a  door  opened  and  a  man  and 
woman  came  out,  descended  the  steps  quickly,  entered 
the  cab  and  were  driven  away.  A  street  lamp  stood 
close  by  the  cab  and  I  recognized  both.  The  woman  was 
the  wife  of  a  man  we  both  know  and  her  companion, 
your  cousin.  I  looked  at  my  watch,  it  was  eleven 
o'clock.  The  hour  and  the  character  of  the  neighbor- 
hood aroused  my  suspicions  and  I  had  certain  investiga- 
tions made  which  confirmed  them.  Then  it  was  that  I  be- 
gan to  look  into  the  past  life  of  your  precious  cousin.  I 
did  this  for  a  certain  reason  and  that  was  that  he  had 
begun  to  practice  his  arts  on  the  one  woman  I  cherish 
and  love.  Do  you  know  who  that  is  ?  "  and  on  the  lat- 
ter replying  in  the  negative,  he  added :  "  It  is  Con- 
stance." 

"  Constance,"  exclaimed  Goeffrey,  bewildered  and  in- 
dignant. "  Oh,  Mr.  Bancroft !  how  can  you  say  such  a 
thing  about  her?  You  would  be  the  first  to  resent  it  if 
anyone  else  did." 

"  And  what  have  I  said  about  her,  if  you  please,  that 
anyone  could  resent  ?  "  he  replied,  fixing  Goeffrey  with  a 
threatening  look  — "  What  have  I  said?  " 

"  I  think  I  must  have  misunderstood  you,"  Goeffrey 
answered  in  some  confusion.  **  I  would  rather  not  say 
what  I  thought  you  said." 

The  old  gentleman  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  arm 
of  his  chair. 

"  I  say,  sir,  that  your  cousin  is  practicing  his  arts 
on  her  so  that  he  may  marry  her.  Now  do  you  under- 
stand?" 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  185 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Goeffrey. 

"  Practicing  his  arts  on  her  in  order  to  marry  her  — 
is  the  thought  of  it  pleasant  to  you  ?  " 

Goeffrey  remembered  Nina's  prediction. 

"  He  isn't  good  enough  for  her,"  he  said  as  he  had 
said  once  before. 

"  He's  not  worthy  to  touch  the  hem  of  her  gown," 
Mr.  Bancroft  replied.  "  It  must  be  prevented  and  I 
want  your  assistance.  I  want  you  to  go  to  your  cousin 
and  suggest  that  he  had  better  go  away  —  tell  him 
that  you  have  been  told  that  things  are  known  about 
him  that  will  make  it  most  unpleasant  for  him  here  if 
they  are  made  public.  If  the  source  of  your  informa- 
tion is  unknown  to  him,  it  may  make  a  deeper  impres- 
sion, and  coming  as  an  emissary  of  someone  else,  it  will 
be  easier  for  you.  You  are  friends,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  suppose  that  he  refuses  to  go?  " 

"  Let  him  take  the  consequences.  I  knew  her  when 
she  was  a  child.  I  saw  her  grow  to  womanhood  and 
beauty.  I  watched  the  wretchedness  of  her  life  with 
Aladine  and  now  I  mean  to  save  her  from  a  marriage 
which  would  make  her  even  more  unhappy."  Mr.  Ban- 
croft rose  and  walked  toward  the  door,  tottering  a 
little  as  he  went  — "  See  him  at  once,"  he  said. 

"  I  will  see  him  to-morrow,"  said  Goeffrey,  "  but  I  am 
not  very  hopeful.  The  only  answer  one  uusally  gets  in 
such  cases,  is  an  invitation  to  mind  one's  own  business." 

"  Never  mind.     Tell  him  and  let  me  know  the  result." 

Goeffrey  assisted  him  on  with  his  overcoat  and  ac- 
companied him  downstairs.  On  the  way  down  the  old 


186  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

man  mumbled  softly  as  if  talking  to  himself.  He  paused 
on  the  stoop.  "  In  a  month  the  town  will  be  empty  — 
no  time  to  lose.  See  him  at  once."  He  turned  toward 
Fifth  Avenue  but  after  a  few  steps  he  stopped.  "  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  that  Constance  wants  to  see  you  to- 
morrow afternoon  about  four.  Try  to  see  your  cousin 
first.  I  may  be  there,  at  Constance's,  I  mean,  and  you 
can  tell  me  what  he  has  to  say."  He  went  on  again,  but 
in  a  moment  came  back  to  where  Goeffrey  was  standing. 
"  Remember,"  he  said  threateningly,  "  I'll  have  no  mercy 
on  him.  If  I  tell  a  certain  man  here  what  I  know,  I 
fancy  your  cousin  will  go  back  to  Europe  in  as  great  a 
hurry  as  he  left  it  a  few  months  ago." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

DORIS  came  down  the  steps  from  Goeffrey's  rooms  and 
stood  for  a  moment  in  hesitation.  The  month  was  May 
but  there  was  a  chill  in  the  air  and  the  wind  blew  through 
the  cross  streets  in  sharp  gusts.  The  occasional  street 
lights  showed  undimmed  through  an  atmosphere  which 
seemed  but  lately  to  have  been  washed  with  rain,  and 
between  the  dark  clouds  which  floated  high  in  the  heav- 
ens, stars  could  be  seen  shining  remote  but  clear. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  pavement  and  smiled 
to  herself  —  the  cool  night  wind,  the  clear  air,  the  shin- 
ing stars  and  her  little  visit  with  Goeffrey,  pro- 
duced an  elation  which  she  did  not  often  feel.  As  a  sort 
of  good-by,  she  pictured  him  in  his  room,  as  he  had 
looked  not  long  before  with  his  expression  of  eager  de- 
light on  seeing  her  and  she  smiled  again,  a  smile  half 
tender,  half  protecting. 

She  seemed  uncertain  at  first  what  direction  to  take, 
but  finally,  with  a  quick  look  about  her,  turned  and 
walked  rapidly  toward  Broadway.  Although  she 
looked  from  side  to  side  repeatedly,  the  block  was  a 
long  one  and  midway  between  the  avenues  badly  lighted, 
and  she  did  not  notice,  until  he  was  close  to  her,  that  a 
man  had  crossed  the  street  for  the  purpose  of  intercept- 
ing her.  When  she  was  almost  upon  him,  she  saw  him 

187 


188  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

and  knew  at  the  same  moment  that  it  was  Pandolfi.  She 
stopped  with  an  involuntary  gesture  of  dismay,  and 
her  hand  went  quickly  to  her  heart.  Pandolfi  went 
swiftly  up  to  her,  with  his  active  and  noiseless  stride,  and 
seized  her  wrist. 

"  So !  I  have  caught  you,"  he  said  in  a  cold  and 
sneering  tone.  "  You  liar !  Is  this  the  way  you  keep 
your  promises  to  me?  " 

Doris  stood  terrified  —  she  did  not  answer  him  and 
her  face  looked  very  pale. 

"  Answer  me,"  he  demanded. 

"  Ernesto,  you  hurt  me,"  she  replied  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Answer  me,"  he  repeated  in  the  same  cruel  and 
sneering  tone.  "  Are  you  supporting  that  pauper  with 
the  money  I  give  you?" 

**  Ernesto,  you  hurt  me,  I  will  not  talk  to  you  here  — 
take  me  home  and  I  will  answer  you." 

"  You  liar,"  he  said  again.  He  started  toward 
Broadway  still  keeping  tight  hold  of  her  wrist  and 
glancing  around  from  time  to  time  in  search  of  a  cab. 

"  Ernesto  —  please  —  you  hurt  me,"  she  repeated, 
but  at  that  moment  a  motor  cab  responded  to  his  signal 
and  drew  up  to  the  curb.  Pandolfi  thrust  her  into  it, 
gave  the  chauffeur  a  number  and  got  in  himself.  The 
cab  started  and  turned  up  Broadway.  Doris  sat  far 
back  in  the  corner  in  silence.  From  time  to  time,  with 
a  trembling  hand,  she  put  her  small  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes.  She  saw  on  each  side  of  her,  moving  past  the 
windows  of  the  cab,  the  cheap  and  vulgar  panorama  of 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 


189 


Pn« 


1 


the  street.  The  dirt,  the  roar,  the  tawdry  lights.  A 
din  of  conflicting  sounds  smote  the  ear,  the  metal  clang 
of  gongs,  blasts  of  motor  horns,  the  grinding  of  steel 
wheels  on  steel  grooves,  the  clash  of  hoofs,  shouts,  cries. 
A  kind  of  dust  hung  in  the  air,  one  could  not  have  seen 
the  clear  stars  here.  One  could  see  nothing  except  the 
: —  -li'cnlav  of  hotels,  theaters  and  restaurants ; 

"  i  the  ka- 
smagoria. 
material- 
life,  Doris 
;he  restau- 
emptiness. 
he  thought 
quite  dif- 
ew.     From 
^s  something 
et,  more  hu- 
jus  —  some- 
js  which  she 
she  felt  she 
to  some  or- 
r  but  a  con- 
ind  meaning- 
one  pure  and 
^hich  her  ear 
% hubbub  which 

,  until  it  had 
turning  down 


•.fin w  «S23i2/a>* »» p* 

a  '"' 


I  11*         UC*O          i  f 

*>!        8PP      ?o         <tT        W6"      0^     'J  t 

•"    "9     ™    °8     -   mS 


188  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

and  knew  at  the  same  moment  that  it  was  Pandolfi.     She 
stopped  with  an  involuntary  gesture  of  dismay,  and 
her  hand  went  quickly   to  her   heart.     Pandolfi  went 
swiftly  i?--*-1-      :'°  f1 
seized  h 

"So! 
sneering 
your  pro 

Doris  * 
her  face 

"Ansv* 

"  Erni 


voce. 
" 


sneering 
the  mont 

"  Erne 
take  me 

"You 
Broadwa; 
glancing 

"  Erne; 
but  at  ths 
and  drew 
gave  the 
cab  startt 
back  in  th 
a  tremblir; 
eyes.     She 
windows  o 


Snap  OAV;  AIUO  }ixq  'sjiuiaad  aonbji 
IBtijotpaui   aoj   p^nddB   9A«q 
-niTBiii  PUB  B^sjSSnap  OOL 

,.-aoj 
l\\M.  II  'UBiDis^qd  sq^  jo  uoiuido  aq; 

•  VJBSS808U  SI    tS.CBp   U9^  J9d  ^Uld  8UO  3qi 

tiBq^  8JOiu  n    -uondposaJd  B.treplsXqd 
•K  uo  jonbii  a       utB^qo  oj  aiqB  aq  It 


nons 


aedoH    aauoissiunaoo 


'too 


•aaeq 

ut  'j 

-ire  SBAV  ii  'stanoiA  eq^  Xiddns  <n 

eq  iiya.  uoisiAoad  'aonbn  peea 

eqi  ^q^  BtrepisXqd  jo  uo^oap  »q; 

ejaq  oituapida  -ezuanijuj  tre  jo 

vi—  ' 


OJL  AXSIHM  J.3O 
MVP  WO  A 


pajp  'edaoo 
aqi  u{ 


ire 
"III 


Jof8j\i 


aure 


He 
far 
,'  with 


past   the 
of 


xmouu-B 

"-a 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  189 

the  street.  The  dirt,  the  roar,  the  tawdry  lights.  A 
din  of  conflicting  sounds  smote  the  ear,  the  metal  clang 
of  gongs,  blasts  of  motor  horns,  the  grinding  of  steel 
wheels  on  steel  grooves,  the  clash  of  hoofs,  shouts,  cries. 
A  kind  of  dust  hung  in  the  air,  one  could  not  have  seen 
the  clear  stars  here.  One  could  see  nothing  except  the 
ostentatious  display  of  hotels,  theaters  and  restaurants ; 
light,  colors,  movements,  crowds,  moving  in  the  ka- 
leidoscope of  an  ignorant  and  vulgar  phantasmagoria. 
The  expression  of  an  uneducated  and  cynical  material- 
ism ;  self  satisfied  and  crude.  And  this  was  her  life,  Doris 
thought  to  herself  —  a  life  of  the  theaters,  the  restau- 
rants, of  late  hours,  of  fatigue,  of  ennui,  of  emptiness. 
A  life  that  meant  nothing,  led  nowhere ;  and  she  thought 
again  of  Goeffrey  as  expressing  something  quite  dif- 
ferent from  the  other  men  and  women  she  knew.  From 
the  very  first,  he  had  appealed  to  her,  because  something 
made  him  different  from  the  others,  more  quiet,  more  hu- 
man. Something  gentle  and  also  fastidious  —  some- 
thing honest,  friendly  and  sincere.  Things  which  she 
was  conscious  of  having  herself  and  which  she  felt  she 
craved  in  someone  else.  As  if  in  listening  to  some  or- 
chestral composition  which  seemed  nothing  but  a  con- 
catenation of  jumbled  discords  deafening  and  meaning- 
less, she  had  detected  running  through  it,  one  pure  and 
charming  melody,  spontaneous  and  gay,  which  her  ear 
eagerly  sought  for  amid  the  confused  hubbub  which 
smote  it. 

The  cab  moved  swiftly  up  Broadway,  until  it  had 
left  the  hotels  and  theaters  behind,  and  turning  down 


190  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

a  side  street,  stopped  before  a  small  house  built  of  some 
light  colored  stone.  A  maid  opened  the  door  and  Doris 
went  at  once  to  the  drawing-room  which  was  up  one 
flight  and  where  Pandolfi  presently  joined  her. 

Pandolfi,  without  taste,  felt  himself  in  an  atmosphere 
which  it  would  have  been  beyond  his  power  to  create 
when  he  was  in  Doris's  house,  and  he  never  entered  it 
without  a  feeling  of  admiration  for  her  —  and  a  reali- 
zation that  she  belonged  to  that  class  of  women  who 
were  what  he  called  ladies.  He  had  no  respect  for  and 
no  fear  of  Doris,  because  he  neither  respected  nor 
feared  anyone,  but  he  knew  that  there  were  knowledges, 
aspirations  and  feelings  in  her  which  were  quite  beyond 
him  and  her  house  illustrated  this  to  him  simply  and 
convincingly.  He  sat  down  and  with  a  rapid  move- 
ment threw  one  leg  across  the  other  and  seized  its 
ankle.  Doris  stood  with  her  back  toward  him,  resting 
her  forehead  on  a  hand  which  grasped  the  mantel-shelf. 
He  could  see  that  she  trembled.  Pandolfi's  ill  humor 
seemed  to  have  abated  somewhat.  j 

"Well,  what  were  you  doing  there?" 

The  brutality  of  his  manner  had  disappeared  and  he 
seemed  puzzled  as  if  by  an  action  on  her  part  which 
was  inexplicable  to  him,  and  as  she  did  not  answer, 
he  said  again,  "What  were  you  doing  there?"  and 
added,  "  What  can  you  see  in  that  imbecile? "  and 
then  as  he  still  received  no  reply,  he  suddenly  raised 
his  voice  and  shouted,  "  Answer  me !  " 

Doris  turned  quickly  to  a  chair  and  sat  down  in  it 
suddenly,  as  if  her  knees  had  given  way  beneath  her. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  191 

Her  eyes  were  red  and  her  cheeks  stained  with  traces 
of  tears. 

"  I  like  him,"  she  answered  simply. 

Pandolfi's  sneer  came  back.  "  Oh !  "  he  said,  "  you 
like  him,"  he  spoke  very  slowly,  pausing  between  each 
word,  "  is  it,  for  example,  a  platonic  liking?  " 

It  seemed  difficult  for  Doris  to  speak  and  he  repeated 
his  question. 

"  Oh,  Ernesto,"  she  answered,  "  what  is  the  use,  you 
wouldn't  understand." 

"  Never  mind,  whether  I  would  understand  or  not. 
Is  it  a  platonic  liking  then?" 

"  Yes,  I  like  him,  Ernesto,  that's  all." 

"  You  like  him  platonically  then.  Does  he  like  you 
in  the  same  way  —  platonically?"  he  continued,  still 
with  his  sneering  tone. 

"  I  suppose  so,  Ernesto,  I  don't  know." 

*'  Did  you  ever  know  of  any  man  to  care  for  any 
woman  platonically,  much  less  a  woman  of  your  class?  " 

"  Oh,  Ernesto,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice,  "  you 
should  not  say  that  to  me." 

"  I  shall  say  what  I  please  to  you,  and  you  will  an- 
swer my  questions.  Do  you  think  that  any  man  ever 
cared  platonically  for  a  woman  like  you  ?  " 

"  He  does  not  know,"  she  answered  in  the  same  low 
voice. 

"Does  not  know  what?" 

"  That  I  am  what  you  say." 

"  Ah ! "  cried  Pandolfi,  getting  quickly  to  his  feet, 
"  then  I  will  tell  him." 


192  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Doris  rose  too  and  faced  him  —  as  she  had  said, 
violence  terrified  her,  took  her  strength  away,  but  by 
a  supreme  effort  she  regained  her  self-control  and 
suddenly  she  turned  on  him  with  rage  in  her  eyes,  like 
some  animal  at  bay. 

"  Ernesto,"  she  said  with  suppressed  fury  in  her 
voice,  "  I  intend  never  to  allow  you  to  intimidate  me 
again,  never,  do  you  understand?  I  have  always 
feared  you  and  you  knew  it  and  profited  by  it.  I 
feared  you  to-night,  but  there  was  no  reason  to  —  shall 
I  tell  you  why?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  Pandolfi  answered,  surprised 
by  her  manner. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  night  of  Goeffrey's  party, 
when  you  so  cruelly  brought  those  women  into  his 
rooms  ?  " 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"  I  saw  you  do  something  that  night  which  no  one 
else  saw." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  said  again,  mystified. 

"  I  saw  you  take  the  letter  which  Miss  Davidge 
brought  there." 

"Well?" 

"  And  I  have  it." 

Pandolfi  made  a  quick  step  toward  her. 

"  You  stole  it  from  me,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  stole  it,  I  stole  it,  and  you  will  never,  never 
see  it  again." 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  he  demanded  threateningly. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  193 

"  Not  if  you  should  torture  me  —  kill  me  —  tear  me 
to  pieces,  you  will  never  get  it." 

Pandolfi  seized  her  wrists,  pushed  her  back  in  her 
chair  and  began  to  twist  them,  turning  them  slowly 
away  from  each  other.  Neither  spoke.  They  strug- 
gled in  silence,  Doris  making  convulsive  but  futile  ef- 
forts to  release  her  arms  which  were  being  bent  more 
and  more  cruelly. 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  he  said  between  his  teeth. 

"  No." 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  he  repeated.  He  kept  bending  them 
farther  and  farther  over  until  it  seemed  as  if  he  must 
break  them. 

"  No,"  was  all  she  would  answer. 

Suddenly  she  screamed,  "  Ernesto !  "  and  her  head  fell 
limply  on  her  shoulder.  She  had  fainted.  Pandolfi 
picked  her  up  without  effort,  laid  her  on  a  sofa, 
sprinkled  her  face  with  water  and  went  quickly  to  her 
bedroom  whence  he  returned  with  a  bottle  of  sal 
volatile  which  he  put  to  her  nostrils.  After  a  moment, 
her  breast  rose  spasmodically  once  or  twice  and  she 
opened  her  eyes.  Pandolfi  had  already  mixed  some 
brandy  and  water. 

"  Take  this,"  he  said,  putting  an  arm  under  her 
shoulders. 

Pandolfi  sat  down  and  watched  her.  She  lay  quite 
still  with  closed  eyes.  He  could  see  that  the  color  was 
returning  to  her  face,  but  her  breathing  seemed  more 
and  more  irregular  until  all  at  once  she  turned  slightly, 


194  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  began  to  weep ;  quietly 
but  terribly,  with  mournful,  heartbroken,  despairing 
sobs  —  as  if  life  were  a  burden  too  heavy  for  her,  too 
bitter,  too  hopeless.  Pandolfi  sat  on  the  other  side  of 
the  room  unmoved.  After  a  time  her  sobs  grew  less 
convulsive,  less  frequent  and  at  last  stopped.  Pandolfi 
turned  his  head  and  saw  that  she  was  looking  at  him. 
He  got  up,  went  to  the  sofa  and  standing  over  her  he 
said  again: 

"Give  it  to  me." 

'"No,  Ernesto,"  she  answered  faintly. 

He  turned  and  began  ransacking  the  room,  turning 
out  drawers,  looking  in  books,  behind  pictures,  in 
closets.  At  last  he  came  back  to  her. 

"  Listen,"  he  said,  "  I  mean  to  have  that  letter  —  I 
will  torture  you  until  I  get  it.  Will  you  give  it  to 
me?" 

"  Never,  Ernesto,"  and  she  held  out  her  wrists  to 
him,  "  torture  me  if  you  like  —  I  will  never  give  it  to 
you,"  and  as  he  seized  them  she  looked  straight  at  him, 
straight  into  his  eyes  as  he  began  to  twist  them  again 
—  with  a  curious  expression.  Soft,  terrified,  daunt- 
less and  beseeching. 

Suddenly  Pandolfi  threw  her  wrists  from  him  with  an 
oath  and  dropped  into  a  chair.  Doris  sat  up  on  the 
sofa.  "  Give  me  some  brandy,  Ernesto,"  she  said 
faintly,  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you."  Pandolfi  got  up 
without  a  word,  gave  it  to  her  and  sat  down  again  and 
then  as  she  did  not  speak  he  said : 

"  Why  did  you  take  that  letter?  " 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  195 

"  I  took  it  because  you  had  no  right  to  it.  That 
night  when  Miss  Davidge  brought  it  in  and  laid  it  on 
the  table,  I  saw  that  you  were  dismayed,  and  when 
Goeffrey  struck  you  and  you  reeled  back  against  the 
table,  I  saw  what  no  one  else  saw,  that  you  covered  the 
letter  with  one  of  your  hands,  and  that  when  you 
moved  away  the  letter  was  not  there.  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  get  it.  We  went  downstairs  to  your  rooms 
afterwards,  and  I  saw  you,  as  we  went  in,  thrust  your 
hand  into  the  pocket  of  your  great  coat  which  hung  by 
the  door.  I  thought  it  probable  that  you  had  held  the 
letter  crumpled  in  your  hand  all  that  time  and  that  you 
put  it  in  your  coat  pocket  to  get  rid  of  it  until  you 
had  a  chance  to  read  it.  I  found  it  there.  I  had  only 
one  reason,  Ernesto,  for  taking  it,  and  that  was  on  ac- 
count of  Goeffrey.  Somehow  in  a  way  I  couldn't  under- 
stand, you  had  been  the  cause  of  Goeffrey's  ruin." 

"  One  moment,"  interrupted  Pandolfi.  "  I  had  noth- 
ing whatever  to  do  with  Hunter's  ruin,  as  you  call  it, 
in  any  way,  why  should  I?  " 

"  You  didn't  like  him." 

"  Please !  please !  "  Pandolfi  held  up  his  hand  with 
one  of  his  Italian  gestures,  "  talk  like  a  sensible  person 
and  not  like  a  fool.  That  sort  of  logic  is  too  silly. 
In  some  extraordinary  way  I  cause  Davidge  to  fail  so 
that  Hunter  may  lose  his  money  —  simply  because  I 
didn't  like  him.  Oh,  no,  business  isn't  done  like  that. 
Hunter  is  nothing  to  me.  If  he  gets  in  my  way,  or 
tries  to  appropriate  my  property,  I  will  rap  his 
knuckles  —  but  to  commit  a  crime  and  put  myself  in 


196  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

danger  of  prison,  because  I  don't  like  a  man,  is  ridic- 
ulous. He  had  been  asking  you  to  his  rooms,  and  to 
pay  him  back,  I  took  Miss  Davidge  there  that  night  to 
teach  him  to  let  my  property  alone,  but  as  for  the 
other  thing,  it's  absurd.  Hunter,  very  foolishly,  had 
his  money  in  an  unsafe  concern  and  when  the  smash 
came,  he  lost  it." 

"  Then  why  were  you  so  anxious  to  have  that  letter, 
Ernesto?" 

"  Because,  Davidge  was  crazy ;  stark,  staring  mad, 
and  God  knows  what  insane  accusations  he  may  have 
made  in  it.  Come,  let  me  see  it." 

"  No." 

**  Have  you  given  it  to  him  already  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Why  not,  if  you  took  it  for  his  sake?  " 

Doris  did  not  reply. 

"  Come,"  said  Pandolfi,  "  let's  look  into  this.  It  is 
fair  to  presume  that  this  letter  was  an  important  one 
to  Hunter,  both  because  of  the  circumstances  under 
which  it  was  written,  and  the  manner  of  its  delivery. 
You  understood  this  fully  at  the  time  and  it  was  because 
of  it  and  for  Hunter's  sake  that  you  stole  it  from  me  — 
and  you  still  have  it.  It  looks  to  me  as  if  you  took  it 
to  serve  your  own  ends,  just  as  you  have  accused  me  of 
doing.  If  you  took  it  for  his  sake,  why  haven't  you 
given  it  to  him  ?  " 

"  From  a  feeling  of  loyalty  to  you,  Ernesto.  I 
think  it  would  have  done  you  great  harm  if  Goeffrey 
had  got  that  letter  and  I  think  so  now,  no  matter  what 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  197 

you  say.  I  knew  if  I  did  not  get  it  that  you  would 
destroy  it  and  I  wanted  time  to  think  about  it.  It  was 
very  difficult  —  and  I  have  no  real  excuse  —  Goeffrey 
should  have  had  it  at  once  —  that  was  the  only  rea- 
son —  but  I  have  another  now  — "  she  paused. 

"What  is  it?"  Pandolfi  asked. 

"  You  said  that  you  were  going  to  tell  Goeffrey 
about  me.  If  you  do  —  I  will  give  it  to  him." 

"  That  is  a  bargain,  then?  So  long  as  I  say  nothing, 
you  will  keep  the  letter?  " 

"  Not  even  that,  Ernesto.  There  will  be  no  bargain 
now." 

Doris  had  spoken  throughout  in  a  calm,  almost  list- 
less tone.  She  was  plainly  exhausted,  but  Pandolfi 
felt  that  something  indomitable  had  risen  up  in  her, 
which  would  make  threats,  violence,  entreaty  —  all  use- 
less. 

"  No,"  she  went  on,  "  there  will  be  no  bargains.  I 
like  Goeffrey  very  much.  It  does  me  good  to  see  him, 
and  I  intend  to  —  not  often,  but  he  is  friendly  and  kind 
and  sometimes  I  shall  go  there  for  a  little  while  and 
then,  finally,  I  may  send  him  his  letter.  I  can't  tell 
yet,  when  I  will  send  it  or  even  if  Ij  shall  send  it  at  all, 
but  if  I  do,  I  will  tell  you." 

Pandolfi,  infuriated  by  her  calmness  and  by  the 
realization  that  he  was  completely  helpless,  that  he  had 
lost  that  control  which  by  means  of  his  exacting  and 
violent  nature  he  had  always  had  over  her,  sprang 
to  his  feet. 

"  And  so  this  is  my  reward  —  this  —  this  —  is  what 


198  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

you  give  me  in  return  for  all  that  I  have  done  for  you, 
for  all  you  owe  me." 

Doris  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  half  sad, 
half  contemptuous. 

"Do  I  owe  you  so  very  much,  Ernesto?  Think  — 
do  I?  It  does  not  seem  so  to  me.  At  times  you  have 
been  kind  to  me  —  when  it  wasn't  too  much  trouble. 
But  do  you  think  that  even  if  you  tried  all  your  life 
you  could  make  reparation  for  what  you  did  to  me? 
For  that  cruel  deception  —  that  pretended  marriage  — 
when  I  knew  so  little  —  trusted  you  so  wholly  ?  When 
you  told  me  it  was  too  late  —  for  me.  Many,  many 
times  I  have  wished  that  I  had  killed  myself  —  and  I 
tried  —  you  know  that.  Afterwards  you  were,  I 
thought,  sorry  for  what  you  had  done  and  I  tried  to 
forgive  you,  but  you  weren't  really  sorry.  You  made 
promises  to  me  then  and  you  broke  them,  and  after 
that  I  didn't  care.  But  that  I  owe  you  anything,  No ! 
And  that  I  shall  be  your  slave,  that  I  shall  be  a  prisoner 
any  longer,  No!  I  will  not  have  you  spy  on  me  and  I 
shall  not  be  accountable  to  you  for  every  step  I  take, 
every  word  I  say  — " 

Pandolfi  jumped  to  his  feet  again,  seized  his  hat  and 
coat,  and  came  close  to  her ;  his  features  were  distorted 
by  that  cruel  look  one  sometimes  saw  on  them. 

«  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  you  have  the  upper  hand  now 
—  but  wait  —  it  will  not  always  be  so.  Listen  to  what 
I  have  to  tell  you  —  and  take  fair  warning.  The  day 
you  send  that  letter  to  Hunter,  I  will  kill  you." 

He  went  out  slamming  the  door  after  him.     Doris 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  199 

got  up,  tottered  to  it,  locked  it  and  threw  herself  on 
the  sofa  again.  She  lay  quite  still  for  so  long,  that 
one  might  have  supposed  her  asleep.  She  was  think- 
ing of  the  past  —  of  how  at  eighteen,  from  a  life 
of  comfort,  of  sheltered  care,  she  had  found  herself 
through  death,  alone  in  London,  almost  penniless.  She 
thought  of  her  efforts  —  her  struggles  to  live,  her  early 
life  on  the  stage  and  then  how  Pandolfi  had  come  into 
it  with  his  money,  his  magnificence,  just  when  it  seemed 
too  difficult  for  her,  too  hard,  too  hopeless  —  a  life  of 
cheap  lodgings,  of  hunger  even,  of  intermittent  engage- 
ments —  of  rebuffs,  of  insults,  of  penury  and  cold,  and 
how  Pandolfi  had  come  and  shown  her  the  other  side 
• —  shown  her  the  ease  that  she  had  known  before,  the 
luxury  she  loved  —  all  the  things  her  sensitive  and  re- 
fined temperament  made  her  hungry  for,  and  how  he 
had  offered  them  to  her  and  through  a  base  and  heart- 
less deception,  by  means  of  a  spurious  marriage  he  had 
accomplished  his  purpose.  She  thought  of  his  confes- 
sion to  her  long  after  and  of  how  at  that  moment  death 
had  seemed  to  be  all  that  was  left  for  her.  She  shud- 
dered as  she  remembered  her  sensations  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  opiate  she  had  taken.  She  remembered 
Pandolfi's  apparently  sincere  contrition  after  she  had 
been  saved  only  by  heroic  efforts  and  how  he  had  prom- 
ised her  that  he  would  really  marry  her  if  she  would 
only  live.  She  remembered  how  she  had  accepted  that 
promise  never  doubting,  through  a  certain  credulity 
and  innocence  of  character  which  was  inherent  in  her 
and  which  she  would  never  lose,  that  he  would  keep  it, 


200  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

and  how  soon  the  realization  came  to  her  that  he  had 
lied  to  her  —  did  not  intend  to  keep  it  —  and  how  with 
a  sort  of  dull  and  hopeless  resignation  she  had  accepted 
that  which  seemed  inevitable  to  her.  She  thought  of  her 
life  with  him  —  of  how,  though  he  had  not  stinted  her 
the  luxuries  she  craved,  his  capricious  and  angry 
nature  had  made  the  price  she  paid  for  them  too  great, 
but  how  through  a  tenderness  of  heart,  hidden  under 
that  mask  of  sullenness  and  indifference  which  made 
loving  a  necessity,  she  had  tried  to  care  for  him,  until 
Goeffrey  came  and  had  made  her  realize  once  more  all 
the  falsity  of  her  position.  She  thought  of  her  visits 
to  his  rooms,  the  avidity  with  which  she  looked  forward 
to  them,  treasured  the  memories  of  them,  because  of 
their  frank  and  honest  friendliness  and  of  how  she  had 
suffered  when  he  had  made  her  that  equivocal  and 
thoughtless  proposal,  because  she  realized  that  no  mat- 
ter what  kindness,  what  consideration  he  had  shown  her, 
he  had  looked  on  her  as  one  of  those  women  to  whom 
such  things  could  be  said.  But  how  she  had  loved  those 
little  visits  to  him  where  until  then,  no  word  had  ever 
been  spoken  that  could  not  have  been  said  to  her  before 
—  before  she  had  become  what  she  was.  And  yet  even 
if  he  did  not  know  of  her  relations  with  Pandolfi,  he 
could  not  be  blamed.  He  knew  her  life  —  the  life  of 
the  theaters  and  restaurants,  her  friends  —  their  gay- 
eties,  their  frivolities, —  how  could  she  blame  him. 

And  then  the  letter  —  why  had  she  not  given  it  to 
him?  She  had  often  asked  herself  this  question. 
There  were  three  reasons.  A  slight  feeling  of  loyalty 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  201 

to  Pandolfi,  her  fear  of  him,  and  the  fact  that  she  had 
not  the  courage  to  face  poverty  again.  This  was  at 
first  —  but  as  time  went  on,  these  reasons  ceased  to 
satisfy  her.  The  letter  was  Goeff rey's,  that  was  all  — • 
it  was  his  —  he  must  have  it ;  come  what  may  —  and 
that  very  night  she  had  gone  to  give  it  to  him.  How 
easy  it  would  have  been  for  Pandolfi  to  have  got  it  if 
he  had  known  —  but  when  she  got  there,  another  rea- 
son had  presented  itself  and  she  had  not  done  so.  Miss 
Davidge  had  not  seen  him  and  by  the;  light  of  her  natu- 
ral antagonism  toward  her,  she  had  attributed  her  re- 
fusal to  the  fact  that  Goeffrey's  fortunes  had  changed 
for  the  worse.  From  Pandolfi's  eagerness  to  possess 
it  —  from  Miss  Davidge's  estimate  of  its  importance, 
an  estimate  shown  by  her  determination  to  deliver  it, 
even  under  most  unusual  conditions,  Doris  believed  that 
it  must  contain  a  message  of  great  consequence  to  him, 
even  to  the  restoration  of  the  fortune  he  had  lost  — 
and  she  could  not,  when  brought  suddenly  face  to  face 
with  the  situation,  bring  herself  to  do  a  thing  which 
she  was  convinced  would  give  Goeffrey  to  her  rival. 
Not  that  she  could  hope  for  more  than  to  see  him,  to 
be  with  him  from  time  to  time,  that  was  all  —  but  it 
was  so  much  to  her  that  she  could  not  give  it  up  —  his 
friendship  was  precious  —  it  was  all  she  had.  How 
hard  life  was,  how  terrible,  how  relentless.  But  that 
was  not  the  point,  the  point  was  that  the  letter  was 
his,  that  hej  should  have  it,  that  she  was  a  thief  in  keep- 
ing it  —  that  it  did  not  matter  whether  Pandolfi  killed 
her  or  not,  whether  he,  drove  her  into  the  streets  or  not, 


202  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

whether  it  gave  Goeffrey  to  a  woman  she  hated  or  not, 
it  was  his  and  he  must  have  it.  But  was  that  the  point 
after  all?  Ah!  no,  the  point  was  that  she  loved  him, 
loved  him  with  all  her  heart,  with  all  her  strength,  with 
all  her  capacity  for  loving,  and  because  of  that  she  would 
never  give  it  to  him,  she  would  keep  him  poor  so  that 
that  other  woman  would  not  want  him,  and  if  he  were 
poor,  who  knows  —  perhaps  —  perhaps  — 


CHAPTER  XIV 

GOEFFREY,  while  dressing  the  next  morning,  was  in- 
terrupted by  his  office  boy  who  thrust  a  card  into  his 
hand  when  he  had  opened  the  door,  on  which  was 
printed,  from  an  engraved  plate,  the  words: 

MR.  ISADORE  ECKSTEIN. 

Goeffrey  looked  at  it  eagerly  —  perhaps  this  means 
work,  he  thought.  "Does  he  look  like  a  client?"  he 
asked  Theodore  the  boy. 

"  A  what?  "  asked  Theodore. 

Goeffrey  finished  dressing  in  short  order,  gulped 
down  his  coffee  which  he  made  himself  in  the  mornings, 
and  went  into  his  office.  A  small  Jew  was  seated  there 
whose  face  seemed  vaguely  familiar  to  him. 

"  I  see  that  you  don't  remember  me,"  the  Jew  said, 
rising  and  bowing,  "  but  I  spent  a  very  pleasant  even- 
ing at  your  apartment  at  the  Kenworthy,  not  many 
months  ago.  I  came  there  with  Mr.  Pandolfi." 

Goeffrey  remembered  him  then,  but  his  greeting  was 
not  particularly  cordial.  In  the  first  place,  his  idea 
of  a  pleasant  evening  and  Mr.  Eckstein's  were  very 
different  he  thought,  and  the  latter  seemed  lacking  in 
delicacy  in  mentioning  it  to  him.  In  addition  the  fact 
that  Mr.  Eckstein  was  a  friend  of  Pandolfi's,  was  far 

203 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

from  being  a  recommendation.  The  Jew  saw  that  he 
had  made  a  mistake  and  hastened  to  add : 

"  But  I  came  here  on  a  matter  of  business.  Have 
you  a  few  minutes  to  spare?  " 

Goeffrey  hesitated. 

"  Let  me  ask  you,"  he  said,  "  are  you  associated  in 
business  in  any  way  with  Pandolfi?  Because  if  you  are, 
I'm  afraid  that—" 

Mr.  Eckstein  interrupted  him. 

"  It  isn't  necessary  to  say  anything  more.  I  under- 
stand you  perfectly.  No,  I  am  not  —  I  value  my  busi- 
ness reputation  too  highly,"  and  he  added  —  "  but  I 
think  that  what  I  have  to  say  may  interest  you  —  if 
you  can  give  me  a  minute  or  two  — " 

"  Sit   down,"   answered  Goeffrey. 

Mr.  Eckstein  sat  down,  curled  his  mustache,  rested 
one  hand  on  an  arm  of  his  chair  so  that  Goeffrey  would 
be  able  to  see  a  very  large  and  brilliant  diamond  he 
wore  on  it,  and  said : 

"  I  want  to  sell  you  some  property." 

"  Me  ?  "I  exclaimed  Goeffrey. 

"  Yes,  I  want  to  sell  you  some  property  for  im- 
provement." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  build  on  ?  " 

"  Exactly." 

"  But  you  must  know  that  I  have  no  money,"  Goef- 
frey answered,  "  even  to  buy  land,  much  less  to  build 
buildings." 

"  You  won't  need  any  money,  or  very  little  to  buy 
it,  and  I  will  lend  you  the  money  to  build  on  it." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  205 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  understand,"  said  Goeff rey 
politely,  "could  you  explain  a  little;  just  what  you 
mean  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  you  are  surprised  —  because  I,  a  stranger, 
come  to  you,"  Mr.  Eckstein  answered,  "  and  make  you 
such  a  proposition  off-hand  —  but  my  business  is  the 
buying  and  selling  of  property.  I  am  not  an  agent 
you  understand  —  I  buy  property  myself  —  or 
through  agents  as  the  case  may  be.  Two-thirds  of 
New  York  has  been  built  on  just  the  plan  I  propose 
to  explain  to  you  —  and  many  men,  who  are  million- 
aires now,  have  made  their  money  in  just  this  way  with 
almost  no  capital  to  begin  with  —  and  anyone  else 
can  do  it  with  brains  and  application  —  allow  me  — " 

Mr.  Eckstein  drew  his  chair  up  to  Goeffrey's  table, 
took  a  sheet  of  paper  and  drew  a  diagram  on  it. 

"  This  is  its  location,"  he  said  to  Goeffrey,  who  got 
up  and  looked  over  his  shoulder,  "  a  corner  property 
—  fifty  feet  wide  on  the  side  street  and  extending  for 
one  hundred  feet  down  the  avenue.  The  location  is  an 
ideal  one  for  an  apartment  house.  I  will  sell  you  the 
land  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  taking 
a  very  small  cash  payment,  retaining  the  rest  on  mort- 
gage, and  will  loan  you  the  money  to  build,  securing 
the  money  I  loan  you  in  this  way,  by  mortgages  on  the 
building  as  it  progresses." 

"  But  I  don't  see,"  said  Goeffrey,  "  how  I  would 
benefit  by  it.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  would  be  virtually 
building  a  building  for  you.  I  might  be  the  ostensible 
owner,  but  you  would  be  the  real  one  and  I  would  have 


206  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

no  interest  in  it  at  all,  beyond  the  small  sum  which  I 
would  pay  at  first,  but  which  I  assume  from  what  you 
say,  would  be  so  insignificant  when  compared  to  the 
whole  cost  as  to  amount  to  nothing?  " 

"  Your  argument  is  good,"  said  Mr.  Eckstein,  "  so  far 
as  it  goes,  but  I  think  I  can  show  you  its  weakness.  I 
offer  you  my  land  at  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  — 
that  is  its  intrinsic  value  —  if  you  can  make  that  land 
earn  enough  money  so  that  it  can  pay  you  a  fair  rate 
of  interest  on  more,  then  you  have  increased  its  value 
by  just  so  much.  Do  you  follow  me?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Goeffrey. 

"  It  is  the  same  way  with  the  building.  You  assemble 
a  quantity  of  materials  —  bricks,  stone,  mortar,  iron 
and  the  like,  the  market  value  of  which  is  another  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  —  but  if  by  assembling  them 
into  a  building  so  that  they  can  earn  money  and  pay 
a  fair  rate  of  interest,  say  on  two  hundred  thousand, 
you  have  increased  their  value  by  fifty  thousand 
dollars  — " 

"  I  see,"  said  Goeffrey  —  "  my  profit  would  come  in 
in  the  increase  in  value  which  would  result  in  bringing 
all  these  things  together." 

"  Exactly  —  but  let  us  go  into  it  a  little  more  in 
detail  —  you  are  sure  that  I  am  not  keeping  you?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Goeffrey,  "  it  is  quite  interesting." 

"  My  own  idea  as  to  the  proper  improvement  for  this 
land,"  Mr.  Eckstein  went  on,  "  is  a  building  containing 
housekeeping  flats  —  high-class  you  know  —  but  of 
various  sizes,  from  small  to  large,  so  that  you  could  suit 


207 

all  tastes  and  incomes.  The  beauty  of  a  housekeeping 
flat  is  the  small  amount  of  money  required  to  run  it  — 
you  get  your  heat  from  the  steam  pipes  in  the  street, 
your  electricity  from  the  street  mains  and  all  you  need 
is  a  boy  to  run  the  elevator.  I  would  only  make  it  six 
stories  high  for  the  reason  that  it  would  be  unnecessary 
then  to  make  a  fireproof  structure  —  that's  the  law  you 
know  —  and  it  would  be  cheaper,  but  I  calculate  that 
you  could  get  five  apartments  on  a  floor  with  a  total 
rental  of  six  thousand  dollars  —  six  floors  at  six  thou- 
sand —  thirty-six  thousand  a  year  —  do  you  realize 
what  that  means  ?  " 

"  The  interest  on  a  lot  of  money  I  should  say,"  re- 
sponded Goeffrey. 

"  Exactly  —  six  per  cent,  on  six  hundred  thousand 
dollars,"  said  Eckstein  triumphantly,  "  but  wait  — 
that's  gross  —  deduct  nine  thousand  from  that  for 
running  expenses,  taxes,  insurance  rates  and  the  like 
and  you  have  a  net  income  of  twenty-seven  thousand 
a  year  or  six  per  cent,  on  four  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  — " 

"  But  you  still  virtually  own  it,"  said  Goeffrey. 

"  Yes,  but  don't  you  see  —  when  your  building  is  com- 
pleted, it,  with  the  land  based  on  its  earning  power, 
which  after  all  fixes  the  value  of  everything,  is  worth 
at  a  conservative  estimate,  four  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  dollars.  Any  insurance  company  will  loan 
you  two-thirds  of  its  value  —  at  five  per  cent,  and  you 
pay  me  off  —  that's  what  they  call  '  borrowing  out.' 
You've  got  then,  an  equity  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 


208  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

thousand  in  it  and  an  income  of  twenty-seven  thousand 
a  year.  You  pay  fifteen  thousand  a  year  as  interest  on 
your  mortgage  and  you  have  for  yourself,  an  income 
of  twelve  thousand  dollars.  How's  that?  " 

"  But  there's  one  thing  I  can't  understand  about  it," 
said  Goeffrey. 

"What?" 

"  It  seems  to  be  such  a  good  thing  —  why  don't  you 
do  it  yourself?  " 

Eckstein  laughed  heartily  —  and  tapped  Goeffrey's 
knee  with  the  finger  on  which  the  diamond  was  dis- 
played. 

"  That's  the  way  to  talk,"  he  said.  "  I  can  see  that 
you've  got  a  business  head  on  your  shoulders.  I'll 
tell  you  why ;  it's  not  in  my  line  —  I  am  a  speculator  in 
real  estate  and  nothing  else  —  I  make  a  good  profit  if 
I  sell  the  land  and  to  facilitate  its  sale,  I  offer  to  lend 
money  to  build  on  it.  I  get  six  per  cent,  for  that  too, 
because  that's  what  I'll  charge  you  for  the  use  of  it." 

"  Still,  I  don't  see,—"  began  Goeffrey. 

"  No ;  but  if  you  had  had  more  business  experience, 
you  would  see  what  I  mean,"  Eckstein  interrupted. 
"  The  men  who  make  money,  are  the  men  who  stick  to 
things  they  understand.  Do  you  suppose  I'd  go  into 
Wall  Street  with  a  thing  like  that?  Take  Storey,  for 
instance,  who  has  so  much  money  it  keeps  him  lying 
awake  nights  to  know  what  to  do  with  it.  If  I  should 
go  to  him  and  explain  it  to  him  as  I  have  to  you  —  I 
know  what  he'd  say  beforehand  —  he'd  say,  '  Mr.  Eck- 
stein, your  scheme  is  a  good  one,  sound  and  business.- 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  209 

like,  but  it's  out  of  my  line,'  —  and  he'd  be  right  too." 

"Do  you  know  Mr.  Storey?"  asked  Goeffrey  irrel- 
evantly. 

"  7  know  him ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Eckstein,  as  if  he 
could  hardly  believe  his  ears  — "  don't  I  wish  I  did. 
Well,"  he  added,  getting  up,  "  think  it  over.  There's 
another  thing  to  be  considered  —  you  would  be  in  a 
better  position  than  most  people  in  going  into  a  thing 
of  this  kind  —  because  you'd  save  the  architect's  fees. 
That  was  what  first  made  me  think  of  you." 

"Would  you  take  any  less  for  the  land?"  asked 
Goeffrey,  who  had  heard  that  a  seller  always  asks  more 
than  he  expects  to  get  and  that  the  purchaser  offers 
less  than  he  expects  to  pay  —  why,  he  could  never 
understand. 

"  Not  a  penny,"  answered  Eckstein  positively. 

"  Well,  how  much  money  down  would  you  want  ?  " 

Mr.  Eckstein  sat  down  again. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  let's  be,  open  and  above 
board,  how  much  have  you  got?  " 

"  About  twenty  thousand  dollars,"  answered  Goef- 
frey. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I  had  intended  to 
ask  you  fifteen  thousand,  but  I  don't  want  to  take  all 
you've  got,  besides  it  might  be  of  use  to  you  if  you 
go  ahead  with  it,  so  I'll  take  five  thousand  and  the  land 
is  yours  — " 

"  Of  course,  I  shall  have  to  think  it  over,"  said  Goef- 
frey. 

"  Of  course,  think  it  over.     Go  up  and  look  at  the 


210  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

property.  But  it's  a  great  chance.  A  year's  hard 
work  and  you  own  a  property  that  is  paying  you 
twelve  thousand  a  year  —  at  the  least.  It  may  not  be 
as  much  as  you  had  before,  but  it's  a  whole  lot 
better  than  nothing.  But  I  will  come  and  see  you 
again." 

"  Yes,  do,"  Goeff rey  answered ;  "  you  see  it's  all  very 
new  to  me,  but  as  you  talked  I  made  some  memoranda, 
and  I'll  study  them  a  bit.  Come  again  in  about  a  week 
and  perhaps  I  shall  have  made  up  my  mind." 

Mr.  Eckstein  went  out,  but  in  a  moment  he  was  back 
again. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  "  when  you  go  up  there  you 
will  notice  that  the  excavations  have  already  been  made, 
and  you  know  that  that's  a  big  item  in  itself.  The 
man  who  sold  it  to  me,  had  it  done  because  he  had  in- 
tended to  build,  but  he  went  broke  in  the  Street  and  so 
he  had  to  sell  instead.  Well,  good-by  —  I'll  see  you  in 
a  week." 

Goeffrey  sat  down,  his  head  in  a  whirl.  This  seemed 
the  royal  road  to  fortune  indeed.  It  must  be  admitted 
that  his  confidence  in  his  ability  to  make  money  had 
been  sadly  shaken  of  late.  He  had  made  one  or  two 
attempts  to  secure  commissions  for  work  which  he  knew 
was  to  be  gone  ahead  with,  but  there  always  seemed 
to  be  someone  else  who  was  able  to  wrest  them  from  him, 
he  could  not  tell  why.  The  money  he  had  in  the  bank 
seemed  such  a  pitiful  sum,  that  at  times  when  unduly 
depressed,  he  felt  that  there  was  little  between  himself 
and  starvation.  But  with  twelve  thousand  a  year, 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  211 

really  it  wouldn't  be  bad.  To  be  sure  it  was  much  less 
than  his  former  income,  but  with  a  little  economy  — 
no  motor  —  he  could  marry  and  live  very  well  on  it. 
They  could  reserve  one  of  the  apartments  for  themselves 
and  arrange  it  just  as  they  would  like  it  to  be  —  he 
could  even  buy  his  clothes  at  some  ready  made  shop, 
but  he  was  afraid  Nina  might  not  like  that.  Oh,  if  he 
could  only  see  her  and  tell  her  about  it.  He  must  ex- 
plain to  Constance  when  he  saw  her  that  afternoon, 
how  important  it  was  and  beg  her  to  arrange  it  — 
really  he  must  see  her  —  it  was  impossible  that  things 
should  go  on  as  they  were,  any  longer.  He  lunched 
at  the  one  club  where  he  still  retained  membership,  and 
was  already  on  his  way  uptown  to  look  at  Eckstein's 
property,  when  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he 
had  promised  Mr.  Bancroft  that  he  would  see  Richard 
before  he  went  to  Constance's  and  he  hurried  back 
again.  He  knew  that  he  was  almost  certain  to  find 
his  cousin,  because  he  rarely  went  out  until  late  in  the 
afternoon,  but  as  he  approached  Richard's  place  of 
abode,  he  relished  less  and  less  the  errand  which  took 
him  there.  He  disliked  meddling  with  other  people's 
affairs  —  and  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  that 
Constance  would  ever  consider  Richard  as  a  matrimon- 
ial possibility.  However,  he  had  promised  Mr.  Ban- 
croft, so  he  must  do  his  best.  He  found  his  cousin 
attired  in  a  dressing  gown  of  richly  colored  silk,  drink- 
ing his  coffee,  and  reading  a  novel.  He  had  taken  a 
small  suite  in  a  smart  apartment  house  for  bachelors, 
just  off  Fifth  Avenue,  and  with  some  furniture  which 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Goeffrey  had  lent  him  he  had  succeeded  in  making  a 
brave  display. 

"  This  is  very  nice,"  Goeffrey  remarked,  looking 
about  him,  "  you  have  arranged  things  very  well  in- 
deed." But  suddenly  he  darted  to  the  table  at  Rich- 
ard's elbow  and  picked  up  a  small  plate  — "  But  I  say, 
you're  using  a  piece  of  my  Lowestoft  for  an  ash  tray  — 
that  won't  do." 

Richard  laughed  — "  All  right,"  he  said,  "  put  it 
away.  How's  the  business  ?  " 

"  Looking  up  a  little,  I  think,"  Goeffrey  answered 
as  he  sat  down  —  and  then  plunging  into  the  matter 
in  hand,  he  said :  "  I've  come  on  a  rather  unpleasant 
errand." 

Richard  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"  Well  —  it's  about  yourself  and  Mrs.  Aladine." 

"  Mrs.  Aladine,"  said  Richard,  apparently  in  still 
greater  surprise.  "What  on  earth  can  you  mean?" 

"  I  was  asked  to  come  here  and  remonstrate  with  you 
—  in  fact  to  do  more  than  that  —  to  warn  you.  Of 
course,  Dick,  you  understand  that  it's  all  very  unpleas- 
ant for  me  —  but  I  thought  that  I  might  be  doing  you 
a  good  turn  too." 

"  Well,  please  explain,  will  you,"  exclaimed  Richard, 
"  and  leave  off  beating  about  the  bush  —  what  is  it?" 

"  Very  well,  then  —  a  certain  person  came  and  told 
me  that  it  was  your  intention  to  marry  Mrs.  Aladine 
if  you  could.  This  person  came  to  me  last  night  and 
asked  me  to  see  you.  He  told  me  that  he  knew  certain 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  213 

things  about  you  —  had  in  fact  been  looking  you  up 
abroad  and  here  too,  for  that  matter  and  —  but  look 
here,  Dick,"  said  Goeffrey,  interrupting  himself,  "  this 
is  awfully  unpleasant,  I  don't  feel  like  going  on." 

"  Indeed  you  shall ! "  exclaimed  Richard,  "  what's 
the  rest  of  it?  " 

"  Well,  you  remember  your  trouble  with  Lady 
Stanley,  when  you  came  over  here.  He  knew  about 
that,  and  other  things,  things  here  too,  or  one  thing,  at 
least,  and  other  things  abroad.  He  has  Mrs.  Aladine's 
welfare  very  much  at  heart  and  he  is  bitterly  prejudiced 
against  you  — " 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  Richard!  as  Goeffrey  paused  again. 

"He  is  prejudiced  against  you  and  he  wants  you 
to  keep  away  from  Mrs.  Aladine  and  in  fact  go  away ; 
go  abroad  or  anywhere  and  stay  there." 

"And  if  I  don't?" 

"  He  will  tell  a  certain  man  here  something  that  he 
knows  about  your  relations  with  that  man's  wife." 

For  a  few  minutes  Richard  was  silent.  His  face  had 
flushed  as  Goeffrey  was  speaking  and  he  seemed  both 
perplexed  and  infuriated. 

"  Did  Mr.  Storey  ask  you  to  do  this  ?  "  he  asked  at 
length. 

"  No,"  Goeffrey  answered,  "  he  didn't." 

"  I  could  hardly  have  thought  so  but  I  know  who 
it  was  —  it  was  that  damned  old  fool  Bancroft. 
Wasn't  it?" 

"  I  shan't  tell  you,"  Goeffrey  replied. 

"  All  right,  you  needn't  —  but  I  know  it  was.     He's 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

forever  meddling  in  her  affairs  —  sitting  about  as  if 
he  owned  the  place  and  pouring  down  tea  by  the  quart. 
Why  can't  he  mind  his  own  business?  But  what  is 
this,  an  ultimatum?" 

"  Something  of  that  sort,  I  suppose." 

"If  I  won't  agree,  he  will  probably  go  straight  to 
Mrs.  Aladine.  It's  hard,  Goeffrey;  I  know  I've  done 
things  I  shouldn't  —  I  don't  know  that  Mrs.  Aladine 
would  marry  me  even  if  I  should  ask  her  —  but  I  like 
her.  I  wouldn't  want  her  to  think  ill  of  me  —  but  as 
for  getting  away;  he's  in  downright  earnest,  is  he?" 

"  I  should  say  so,"  Goeffrey  answered,  "  very  much 
in  earnest." 

"  But  pulling  out  like  this,  just  as  I  am  settled  — 
Must  he  know  at  once?  " 

"  I  think  he  expects  to." 

Richard  was  silent  again. 

"  Will  you  do  this,"  he  said  at  last.  He  paused 
again.  "  He  wants  me  to  promise  that  I  shall  see  noth- 
ing of  Mrs.  Aladine  in  the  future  and  leave  New  York. 
If  I  don't,  he  will  tell  something  which  he  professes  to 
know  about  me?  But  the  thing  is  so  unexpected,  I  am 
settled  here  with  no  intention  of  leaving,  I've  got  to 
have  time  to  think  it  over  —  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that  I 
shall  pay  any  attention  whatever  to  him  —  and  I  shall 
not  answer  now  at  any  rate."  Richard  paused  again. 
"  Tell  him,"  he  continued,  "  that  I  shall  let  him  know 
in  three  days  —  to-day  is  Thursday  —  on  Sunday  he 
shall  have  my  answer.  But  during  that  time  he  must 
keep  quiet.  Unless  he  promises  that,  I  shall  refuse  to 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  215 

do  anything  —  I'll  fight  him.  He's  given  me  his  ul- 
timatum and  here's  mine.  I  will  let  him  know  in  three 
days,  but  only  on  condition  that  he  promises  to  say 
nothing  to  anybody.  Will  you  see  him  to-day?" 

"  This  afternoon,"  Goeffrey  answered. 

"  Then  telephone  me  —  I  shall  wait  until  I  hear  from 
you." 

Goeffrey  got  up. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  "  no  hard  feelings,  I  hope." 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,"  was  all  Richard  answered,  and 
Goeffrey  remembered  afterwards  that  he  thought  his 
cousin  concealed  a  smile  as  he  turned  away. 

It  was  half  past  four  when  he  reached  the  street  and 
signaling  a  motor  cab,  he  gave  the  chauffeur  Constance's 
number  and  got  in.  On  reaching  there,  he  was  shown 
into  the  small  parlor  in  which  Mr.  Bancroft  and  Rich- 
ard had  waited  for  Mrs.  Aladine. 

"  Mrs.  Aladine  and  Mr.  Storey  are  having  a  business 
meeting  upstairs,"  Jacob  explained,  as  he  took  his  hat 
and  coat,  "  but  I  don't  think  that  they  will  be  much 
longer." 

Goeffrey  sat  down  and  waited.  He  had  not  been  in 
the  house  since  the  day  when  Pandolfi  had  come  there 
with  his  announcement  of  Davidge's  failure,  the  day 
when  he  had  had  Nina's  answer.  It  was  in  this  very 
room  that  he  had  found  her  with  Constance  when  he  had 
followed  them  out  of  the  library.  He  remembered 
vividly  that  they  were  sitting  on  the  sofa  and  that 
Nina,  while  not  crying,  looked  very  pale  —  and  that 
when  they  got  up  to  go  upstairs,  she  had  said  not  to 


216  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

worry  —  that  she  would  be  all  right  in  no  time.  What 
a  fool,  what  a  double,  triple  fool  he  had  been,  to  allow 
himself  to  be  placed  in  such  a  position  —  he  had  not 
had  resolution  enough  to  assume  the  obligations  of 
his  new  relationship  at  once,  but  must  shirk  them  be- 
cause he  was  too  lazy  or  too  selfish  to  put  off  something 
that  promised  a  few  hours'  enjoyment.  Well,  he  had 
got  what  he  deserved  and  very  quickly.  He  heard  the 
rustle  of  skirts  in  the  hall.  He  wondered  why  Mrs. 
Aladine  had  sent  for  him.  He  must  get  her  to  promise 
to  use  all  of  her  influence  in  his  behalf,  so  that  an  in- 
terview might  be  arranged.  The  rustle  of  skirts  drew 
nearer  and  he  got  up  and  Nina  herself  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

Goeffrey  stared  at  her  in  a  state  of  complete  stupe- 
faction for  a  moment,  and  then  his  arms  were  around 
her  and  she  was  trying  to  push  him  away  without  any 
success  and  he  was  repeating,  "  Oh,  Nina,  Nina ! "  over 
and  over  again. 

"  And  now,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  she  could  catch  her 
breath  between  Goeffrey's  assaults,  "  you've  kissed  me 
quite  enough  for  the  present,  the  door  is  wide  open  and 
Jacob  will  be  scandalized." 

"  Oh !  Nina,  Nina." 

"  Did  you  really  care  for  me  so  much,  Goeffrey  ?  " 

"Oh!  Nina,  Nina." 

He  was  beside  himself  with  delight. 

"  Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me,"  he  said  at  last,  "  and 
have  you  forgiven  me?  " 

"  Yes,  Goeffrey  dear,  both,  but  let's  not  talk  about 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  217 

that,  because  I  was  silly  and  headstrong  so  that  it  was 
as  much  my  fault  as  yours.  And  have  you  missed  me?  " 

"  Missed  you !  I  have  been  absolutely  and  completely 
miserable  —  I  haven't  been  anywhere,  seen  anyone,  just 
stayed  at  home  and  thought  about  you  and  longed  for 
you  —  when  I  moved  I  didn't  tell  anybody  where  I  was 
because  I  didn't  want  to  see  them." 

"  You  have  moved?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  to  a  cheaper  place,  but  it's  quite  good 
enough." 

"  And  is  it  true  that  my  father's  letter  was  never 
found?" 

"  Not  a  trace  of  it." 

"  But  someone  must  have  taken  it  then." 

Goeff rey  shrugged  his  shoulders  —  "  Evidently !  but 
whom?  I  believe  Pandolfi,  for  instance,  capable  of  any- 
thing and  possibly  interested  in  my  not  getting  it,  but 
what  proof  have  I?  "  Then  turning  to  her  and  taking 
both  her  hands  he  added :  "  but  let's  not  talk  about  that. 
I  am  so  absolutely  happy  again,  that  I  can  talk  about 
you  and  nothing  else.  How  did  you  come  to  decide  to 
forgive  me  and  to  see  me  again?  " 

"  Constance  talked  to  me  often  about  it  and  finally 
she  showed  me  how  stubborn  and  hateful  it  was  of  me 
and  how  selfish.  Oh,  Goeflfrey,  she  is  a  good  woman  — 
and  I  have  been  hateful  to  her  too." 

"  Oh !  Nina  dear,  you  never  could ;  to  anyone." 

"  Yes,  I  have  —  I  have  been  so  worried  about  her 
and  Richard."  Nina  got  up  and  shut  the  door.  "  Do 
you  know,"  she  continued,  returning  to  her  seat  and  low- 


ering  her  voice  to  a  whisper,  "  she  is  infatuated  with 
him  —  mad  about  him  —  I  have  never  seen  anything 
like  it  —  and  it's  such  a  pity,  when  I  think  of  Con- 
stance —  a  woman  like  that  —  throwing  herself  away 
on  a  man  like  Richard  —  it  infuriates  me  to  know  that 
I  can't  do  anything  and  that's  why  I've  been  hateful 
to  her.  I  couldn't  help  showing  her  how  I  have  felt 
about  it  —  and  Goeffrey,  you  know  what  a  wonderful 
kind  of  delicate  beauty  she  has  anyway.  Well,  it  has 
absolutely  transfigured  her.  She's  quite  the  most 
beautiful  woman  I've  ever  seen."  A  rap  sounded  on 
the  door  and  Nina  jumped  up.  "  It's  Mr.  Bancroft," 
she  said,  "  come  in." 

Mr.  Bancroft  shut  the  door,  drew  a  chair  up  to  the 
sofa  and  addressed  Goeffrey. 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes ;  and  came  here  at  once." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  wants  three  days  to  think  it  over." 

Mr.  Bancroft  turned  to  Nina. 

"  When  I  saw  Goeffrey  last  night,"  he  explained, 
"  I  asked  him  to  go  to  his  cousin  and  tell  him  that  un- 
less he  promised  not  to  see  Mrs.  Aladine  again,  and 
agreed  to  leave  New  York  at  once,  I  would  make  known 
certain  things  about  him  which  have  come  to  my 
knowledge." 

"  Do  you  think  that  Constance  intends  to  marry 
him?  "  Goeffrey  asked. 

"  What  her  present  intention  is,  I  don't  know  —  but 
if  he  continues  to  see  her,  that  will  be  the  inevitable 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  219 

result,"  answered  Mr.  Bancroft,  then  he  added :  "  he 
promised  to  answer  in  three  days  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  on  one  condition  —  that  you  will  not  speak 
of  the  things  you  threaten  to  speak  of  to  anyone,  dur- 
ing that  time." 

"  That  will  give  him  an  opportunity  to  forestall  you 
with  Constance,"  said  Nina.  "  I  think  it  was  a  mistake 
to  give  him  any  warning." 

"  I  did  it,  my  dear,"  replied  Mr.  Bancroft,  "  because 
I  felt  sure  that  Constance  would  never  allow  herself 
to  believe  anything  at  all  against  him.  The  things  I 
know  about  Whitely  are  of  no  use  as  far  as  Constance 
is  concerned  —  so  I  felt  forced  to  see  what  effect  they 
would  have  on  him.  Were  you  to  let  him  know?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was  to  telephone  him." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Bancroft,  "  telephone  him  that 
I  will  give  him  three  days,  provided  he  promises  on  his 
part,  to  hold  no  communication  with  Mrs.  Aladine  dur- 
ing that  time.  There  is  a  telephone  closet  just  outside 
the  door." 

Goeffrey  went  out,  returning  in  five  minutes  with  the 
announcement  that  Richard  had  accepted  Mr.  Bancroft's 
terms. 

"Did  he  hesitate  at  all  before  doing  so?"  the  old 
man  asked. 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  Goeffrey,  "  he  seemed  on  the 
other  hand  to  be  almost  expecting  it." 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  Nina  said,  "  I  don't  trust  him." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Mr.  Bancroft,  "  but  let  us  hope,"  he 
added,  "  that  he  has  still  enough  of  the  gentleman  in 


220  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

him  to  keep  a  promise  —  I  am  not  sanguine,"  he  con- 
tinued. He  looked  depressed  and  tired.  "  It  was  in 
this  very  room  that  it  began,"  he  went  on  after  a  mo- 
ment. "  7  saw  it  —  knew  what  he  would  try  to  do  — 
and  she,  ripe  for  love  • —  lonely  in  this  great  house, 
credulous  with  the  credulity  of  women,  proved  easy 
prey.  Sometimes  when  I  look  at  her,  something  tells  me 
that  that  happiness  which  she  has  always  dreamed  of  will 
never  find  her  and  there  is  something  about  her  delicate, 
her  fragile  beauty  which  frightens  me,  fills  me  with 
dread." 

No  one  spoke  for  a  time  and  it  was  very  quiet  in 
the  room  except  for  the  ticking  of  the  old  French 
clock  on  the  mantel-piece. 


CHAPTER  XV 

CONSTANCE  and  Storey  sat  side  by  side  before  the 
massive  desk  in  the  room  which  had  been  Aladine's.  Its 
top  was  strewn  with  a  mass  of  papers  which  Mrs. 
Aladine's  secretary  was  placing  in  a  row  of  boxes 
standing  on  a  table  against  the  wall,  and  a  clerk  from 
Storey's  office  was  gathering  up  a  number  of  account 
books. 

"  Is  Pollock  here,  and  Pierce?  "  Storey  asked,  turning 
to  the  clerk. 

"Yes,  sir,  they  are  waiting  outside." 

"  Very  well,  take  them  down  with  you  in  the  car  and 
send  it  back  for  me." 

The  clerk  locked  the  boxes,  placed  the  books  in  a 
leather  portfolio  which  he  also  locked,  and  opening  the 
door  signaled  to  someone  outside.  Two  strong  looking 
men  entered  bowing  respectfully  to  Mrs.  Aladine  and 
Storey.  In  a  moment,  laden  with  the  boxes  and  the 
portfolio  of  books,  they,  with  the  clerk  had  disappeared. 

"There  is  nothing  more,  Mrs.  Aladine?"  asked  the 
secretary. 

"  No,  that  is  all  I  think,"  and  the  secretary  too  bowed 
and  went  out. 

Constance  jumped  to  her  feet. 

"  How  glad  I  am  it's  over.  And  is  everything  settled 

991 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

now,  no  more  papers  to  sign,  no  more  tiresome  business 
matters  to  think  of?  " 

"  Not  for  the  present,"  Storey  answered,  "  but  it  was 
my  fault ;  a  good  deal  has  accumulated  in  two  months 
and  even  before  I  went  away,  I  was  compelled  to  neg- 
lect your  affairs  because  certain  business  matters  were 
so  pressing,"  and  he  added,  "  have  I  tired  you  ?  I 
haven't  even  asked  you  how  you  are  —  are  you  well? 
You  seem  so  fragile  to  me  always." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Vincent,  quite  well,  thank  you."  She  came 
and  sat  beside  him  again.  "  It  is  so  nice  to  see  you  — 
shall  we  have  tea  here  —  just  by  ourselves?  Nina  and 
Goeffrey  are  becoming  reconciled  —  I  have  no  doubt, 
downstairs,  and  would  like  to  be  alone." 

"  Has  there  been  a  quarrel?  " 

"Yes,  but  it's  all  right  now,  I  hope."  She  had 
touched  a  bell,  and  on  a  servant  appearing  she  said: 
"  I  will  have  tea  here  —  and  please  send  some  to  Miss 
Davidge  and  tell  her  that  I  shall  not  be  down."  She 
sat  with  her  elbows  resting  on  the  desk  and  her  hands 
shading  her  eyes.  Storey  watched  her  as  he  always  did 
when  he  could  do  so  unobserved. 

After  a  moment  she  turned  to  him,  "  And  you  have 
been  away  on  business  ?  " 

"  On  business  —  yes  —  in  the  west  —  for  two 
months." 

Constance  put  out  her  hand  as  if  to  touch  his  which 
rested  on  the  desk,  but  withdrew  it  again. 

"  Poor  Vincent,"  she  said,  "  how  hard  you  work. 
How  strong  you  must  be,  Vincent  ?  " 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Pretty  strong,"  answered  Storey  in  his  deep  harsh 
voice.  "  Always  strong  enough  I  hope  to  look  after  you 
when  need  be." 

"  Yes,  and  how  good  you  are  to  me  —  how  careful 
of  my  interests  —  how  could  I  ever  do  without  you." 

"  You  need  never  try,  Constance." 

"Truly,  Vincent?"  Storey  had  begun  to  notice 
something  in  her  manner  which  seemed  a  little  unusual 
—  something  tremulous  and  appealing  and,  too,  a  ten- 
derness which  stirred  him.  "  Truly  ?  will  you  always 
help  me  —  always  be  my  friend?" 

"  We  have  been  friends  for  a  long  time,  Constance, 
why  change  now?  " 

"  Yes !  "  she  answered,  "  for  a  long  time,"  —  and 
after  a  pause  she  went  on,  "  When  he  was  here,"  and  she 
made  a  gesture  which  embraced  the  room  —  the  room 
of  Aladine,  "  it  was  always  you  who  helped  me  —  it 
was  your  friendship  which  made  it  possible  for  me  to 
go  on  —  because  I  felt  that  if  it  need  be,  I  would  find 
you  by  my  side.  I  would  not  have  been  strong  enough 
to  stay  here  —  if  it  had  not  been  for  you.  He  fright- 
ened me  —  I  could  not  understand  him  —  and  then  you 
would  come  with  your  strong  voice  and  the  hearty  grip 
of  your  hand  and  give  me  courage." 

"  Poor  Constance,"  Storey  said  in  turn.  "  But  that 
is  all  over  long  ago  —  you  have  been  through  the  valley 
of  the  shadow  —  you  must  be  happy  now." 

"  Be  happy,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  as  if  to  herself. 

"  Vincent,"  she  said,  "  why  is  it  that  love  and  happi- 
ness so  seldom  go  together?  " 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  How  many  people  are  asking  that  question," 
Storey  answered  with  something  almost  like  a  sigh. 

Constance  looked  at  him. 

"Are  you  happy,  Vincent?" 

"Will  happiness  come  of  itself?"  he  answered.  "I 
think  that  unless  we  search  for  it,  we  will  not  find  it, 
and  all  my  life  I  have  been  too  busy  doing  other  things." 

"  Things,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  much  more  worth 
while  than  being  happy,"  and  after  a  moment  she  added, 
"  for  woman,  happiness  —  for  man,  power." 

"  And  woman's  the  better  choice,"  added  Storey,  "  be- 
cause her  wisdom  is  of  the  ages,  while  man  is  always 
the  self-taught  child  of  a  day." 

A  servant  had  brought  the  tea,  but  neither  had  no- 
ticed it. 

"  Vincent ! "  Constance  said  to  him,  "  are  my  affairs 
arranged  now  so  that  if  I  should  go  away  for  a  long 
time,  they  would  not  suffer?  " 

"  You  could  go,"  answered  Storey,  "  quite  easily, 
but  will  you?  Why?" 

"  I  don't  know,  perhaps  I  shall  not  go  —  perhaps 
I  shall  —  in  search  of  happiness.  Do  you  know,"  she 
added  after  another  pause,  "  I  think  that  lie  was  a  mali- 
cious man."  Storey  knew  that  she  was  thinking  again 
of  Aladine.  "  At  the  last  when  he  was  ill,  he  seemed  to 
realize  that  he  had  failed  in  some  way.  One  day 
he  asked  me  to  bring  him  a  leather  wallet  he  always 
used  to  carry,  and  opening  it  he  took  out  a  slip  of  paper 
and  gave  it  to  me.  'What  do  you  make  of  it?'  he 
asked.  '  It  was  written  by  some  old  English  poet  and 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  225 

I  copied  it  from  a  tomb  there  once  —  the  tomb  of  a 
knight,  I  think.'  I  have  always  remembered  it,"  she 
went  on,  "  and  I'll  repeat  it. 

"  '  That  I  spent  —  that  I  had 
That  I  gave  —  that  I  have 
That  I  left  —  that  I  lost.' 

"  Its  meaning  is  quite  clear  and  I  explained  it  to 
him.  In  a  way  he  had  understood  it,  but  I  think  the 
unusual  form  had  puzzled  him.  He  repeated  the  middle 
line  to  himself  more  than  once.  *  That  I  gave  —  that  I 
have.'  '  There's  something  deep  in  that,'  he  said, 
'  something  deep.'  He  realized  that  he  had  sacrificed 
everything,  happiness,  health,  friendship,  self  respect, 
to  money  and  it  hadn't  paid.  He  realized,  at  least  it 
seems  so  to  me,  that  its  responsibilities,  its  burdens, 
were  too  heavy,  that  it  warped  people's  nature  as  it 
had  warped  his,  and  it  made  him  hate  at  last,  what  he 
had  always  worshiped  —  and  that's  why  he  gave  it 
to  me  —  because  he  didn't  want  me  to  be  happy.  He 
was  a  very  far  seeing  man,  Vincent." 

"  And  does  money  keep  you  from  being  happy  ?  " 
"  Yes,  in  some  ways  —  because  it  distorts  one's 
vision  so  that  one  cannot  tell  whether  one  sees  clearly 
or  not.  I  mean  in  one's  relations  with  others  —  one  can- 
not tell  what  is  genuine  and  honest  in  them,  how  much 
they  are  drawn  to  you  by  yourself  or  by  what  you  have, 
and  so  after  a  while  one  begins  to  doubt  everyone  and 
to  question  the  sincerity  of  their  motives.  It  is  terrible 
to  feel  that  —  that  perhaps  no  one  is  to  be 
trusted." 


226  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  But  that  needn't  worry  you,  Constance.  If  you 
had  nothing,  people  would  never  change  toward  you. 
Because  of  all  others,  you  are  a  woman  who  compels 
friendship  by  reason  of  things  with  which  money  has 
nothing  to  do." 

"  Oh,  Vincent,"  she  answered  eagerly,  "  do  you  think 
so,  are  you  sure  ?  "  and  then  she  added,  "  of  course  with 
you  it  is  so  different  —  you  have  always  shown  your 
friendship  and  interest  by  such  kindness  —  such 
thoughtfulness  —  which  always  touches  a  woman  so. 
Think  of  all  that  you  have  done  for  me  —  what  a  true 
friend  you  have  been  —  of  all  the  labor  and  trouble  you 
take  with  my  affairs  —  looking  after  them  so  pains- 
takingly —  and  I  hardly  ever  thank  you  —  always 
safeguarding  them,  thinking  of  better  things  to  do  — 
of  new  plans  —  of  ways  to  save  me  trouble  and  all  for 
nothing  —  a  labor  of  — " 

She  stopped,  looked  at  him,  seemed  to  see  something 
in  his  expression  which  startled  her  and  did  not  go  on. 

Storey  sat  for  some  time  without  moving.  At  last 
he  said : 

"  Yes  —  a  labor  of  love  —  not  friendship,  not  kind- 
ness, not  thoughtfulness  —  but  love.  Did  you  ever 
know,"  he  continued,  "  have  you  never  guessed  —  what 
you  have  been  to  me  all  these  years?  From  the  mo- 
ment I  saw  you  here  —  after  you  had  married,  Aladine, 
until  now  ?  " 

Constance  looked  straight  ahead  for  a  moment  with 
wide  open  eyes  as  if  some  vision,  some  prospect  she  had 
not  imagined,  had  suddenly  spread  itself  before  her  and 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

then  a  crimson  flush  arose  quickly  up  and  she  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  should  ever  have  told  you  this, 
if  something  in  you  had  not  compelled  me  to  to-day. 
But  what  I  am,  what  I  have,  is  yours  if  you  want  it  — 
has  been  yours  since  I  knew  you  and  always  will  be 
whether  you  take  it  or  not.  There  is  some  truth  in 
what  you  say  about  the  curse  of  money,  but  you  would 
be  safe  with  me  —  I  don't  know  that  you  could  love  me 
—  me,  Storey  the  monster." 

"  Oh,  don't,  don't,"  she  said. 

"  But  if  you  want  love,  want  devotion,  I  can  give 
them  to  you  because  I  always  have.  You  are  the  only 
woman  who  has  ever  existed  for  me  or  who  ever  will, 
and  you  know  me  —  what  I'm  like  —  that  I  don't 
change  —  only  I  know  —  what  my  drawbacks  are  — 
that's  why  I  thought  that  I  would  never  tell  you,  because 
I  —  well,  I  felt  that  I  was  too  ugly  —  that  it  would 
be  preposterous  to  expect  you  to  - 

Constance  caught  his  hand  in  both  of  hers.  "  Oh, 
Vincent,"  she  said,  "  don't  talk  like  that,  things  like  that 
don't  matter  to  women  —  and  Vincent,  I  want  to  tell  you 
that  you  are  too  good  for  me,  a  thousand  times,  and  I 
admire  you  and  respect  you  and  esteem  you  more  than 
any  man  I  have  ever  known  —  but  I  can't,  that's  all.  Do 
you  know? "  and  she  smiled  through  the  tears  that 
welled  in  her  eyes  —  "  you  are  so  strong  and  noble  and 
kind,  that  I  almost  wish  that  I  could,  but  it  wouldn't 
be  love,  Vincent,  and  I  shall  never  marry  without  it." 

"And  no  chance?"  asked  Storey. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  No,  Vincent  —  no  chance,"  she  answered  softly. 

Storey  got  up  and  stood  looking  down  at  her.  There 
was  no  change  of  expression  in  his  face,  but  in  his 
proud,  spirited  and  piercing  eyes,  Constance  saw  love, 
pain  and  lasting  devotion.  He  held  out  his  hand. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said,  "  only  let  me  tell  you  that 
I  shall  be  always  as  I  am  now  —  but  I  shall  not  speak 
of  it  again  and  we  will  be  friends  as  we  were  before." 

Constance  rose  from  her  chair  and  they  stood  for  a 
moment  with  clasped  hands.  She  seemed,  while  wishing 
to  say  something,  to  be  in  doubt,  to  hesitate  —  at  last 
she  said,  "  Vincent,  you  speak  about  friendship  —  you 
say  that  we  shall  always  be  friends  —  will  you  remember 
that  —  I  want  it  so  much  —  your  friendship  —  and  will 
you  always  give  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  why  not  ?  "  he  answered. 

"  Even  if  you  might  not  think  me  worthy?  Remem- 
ber that  you  have  promised  —  and  if  something  should 
happen  which  might  make  you  think  bitterly  toward  me, 
try  to  forgive  me,  Vincent,  and  remember  that  I  shall 
always  want  it,  shall  always,  no  matter  where  I  am, 
want  to  feel,  that  —  that  —  "  suddenly  she  came  close  up 
to  him  and  putting  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  rested 
her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  wept  for  a  moment  gently 
there.  Then  lifting  her  head  and  looking  at  him  ap- 
pealingly  through  her  tears  she  said: 

"  Always  believe  in  me,  Vincent,  and  always  be  my 
friend  —  once  more  —  will  you  promise  me  your  faith 
and  friendship?  " 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Storey,  "  my  faith  and  friendship." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  229 

"For  always?" 

"For  always." 

Storey  went  down  the  great  staircase  with  his  light 
almost  graceful  step,  and  his  expression  would  have 
revealed  nothing  unless  one  could,  like  Constance,  have 
read  the  meaning  in  his  eyes.  Keenly  sensitive  about 
his  physical  ugliness,  the  more  so  because  he  was  a  pas- 
sionate lover  of  the  beautiful,  he  had  led  a  life  which 
was  almost  monastic  in  its  sobriety,  in  spite  of  the 
popular  legends  to  the  contrary.  In  his  big  house  on 
the  east  side,  he  had  lived  for  years  surrounded  by  his 
Chinese  porcelains  —  his  old  furniture  —  his  velvets 
and  his  silver,  with  Constance  enshrined  in  his  heart  and 
this  had  been  his  bitterness  —  that  he  feared  to  tell  her, 
feared  that  she  might  reveal  in  a  moment  like  that  a 
physical  distaste,  shrinking  from  his  deformity  that 
would  hurt  him  incurably.  And  in  her  attitude  toward 
him,  there  had  been  nothing  like  this,  no  hint.  She  had 
in  fact  said  it  did  not  matter  to  women  —  and  it  gave 
him  almost  a  feeling  of  hope.  The  great  obstacle  or 
what  to  him  had  always  seemed  so  —  had  turned  out  to 
be  of  small  importance  and  perhaps  in  time  he  might 
overcome  the  other.  He  felt  almost  light-hearted;  the 
purplish  patch  on  his  face,  his  huge  ungainly  figure, 
didn't  matter  now  —  he  would  be  with  her  often.  Even 
if  she  went  away,  as  she  spoke  of  doing,  he  could  wait, 
now  that  she  knew. 

As  he  reached  the  lower  landing,  he  heard  voices  com- 
ing1 from  the  little  parlor  at  the  right,  the  door  of  which 
stood  ajar,  and  as  he  passed  it  he  heard  someone  say, 


230  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Why,  there  is  Mr.  Storey,"  and  Mr.  Bancroft  ap- 
peared. Looking  past  him,  Storey  saw  Nina  and  Goef- 
frey  seated  on  a  sofa.  He  liked  young  people,  because 
they  were  young.  He  did  not  feel  that  he  knew  any 
of  them  very  well,  for  the  reason  that  the  great  interests, 
the  heavy  responsibilities  of  his  life  absorbed  him  so 
much,  but  when  he  had  a  moment  and  the  opportunity 
offered,  he  liked  to  talk  with  them  because  they  were 
good  to  look  at  with  their  clear  skin  and  eyes,  their 
glossy  hair  and  their  young  voices.  He  turned  to  the 
footman  at  the  door: 

"  Let  me  know  when  my  car  comes,"  he  said  and  went 
in.  Mr.  Bancroft  followed  and  returned  to  his  chair. 

"  Goeffrey,  my  boy,"  Storey  said,  putting  his  hand 
on  the  latter's  shoulder  as  he  sat  down,  "  how  is  every- 
thing going,  now  that  you  have  really  begun  to  work  in 
earnest  ?  " 

"  Looking  up  a  little  now,  sir,  I  think,"  answered 
Goeffrey. 

"  Come  and  see  me  once  in  a  while,  will  you  ?  "  Storey 
said,  "  I  may  be  able  to  put  something  in  your  way  — 
but  come,  don't  hesitate  —  or  I  may  forget  about  you. 
I  have  a  good  many  things  to  think  of,  you  know.  No, 
thanks,"  he  added  to  Nina,  who  had  offered  him  some 
tea. 

"  Is  Constance  coming  down? "  asked  Mr.  Ban- 
croft. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Storey,  "  I  hardly  think 
so,  we  had  a  number  of  business  matters  to  talk  over 
and  it  tired  her  I  think." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  231 

"  She  gets  tired  easily,"  said  Mr.  Bancroft. 

Storey  turned  to  him  — "  Don't  you  think  she  is 
well?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  think  she  is  delicate,"  the  old  man  said,  "  too 
delicate." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Storey  —  "I  wonder  if  she  is  con- 
cerned about  herself  at  all  —  she  spoke  about  going 
away,  to  be  gone  for  a  good  while  —  I  wonder  if  she  is 
concerned  about  her  health  ?  " 

"  She  spoke  about  going  away?  "  asked  Mr.  Bancroft, 
"  did  she  say  where?  " 

"  Nothing  definite,  she  said  she  might  be  gone  for  a 
long  time." 

The  others  exchanged  glances. 

"  I  wonder  when." 

"  Soon,  I  should  say." 

"  There  is  something  strange  about  that ;  until  very 
lately  she  expected  to  be  at  Lowlands  for  the  summer," 
the  old  man  said,  mentioning  a  country  place  of  Con- 
stance's in  New  England.  "  Look  here,  sir,"  he  said, 
making  a  sudden  resolution  and  turning  to  Storey  — 
and  then  anger  getting  the  better  of  him  for  a  moment, 
he  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  arm  of  his  chair  —  "  the 
damned  rascal,"  he  cried,  "  what  is  he  putting  her  up 
to?" 

Storey  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  sur- 
prised inquiry. 

"  Richard  Whitely,"  the  old  man  went  on,  trembling 
with  excitement  —  "  that  precious  cousin  of  Goeffrey's 
here.  You  have  been  away,  sir  —  and  let  me  tell  you 


232  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

that  in  two  month  he  has  woven  his  coils  about  Con- 
stance until  she  can't  escape  him." 

Storey  did  not  understand.  He  had  seen  Richard 
once  perhaps,  and  had  promptly  forgotten  his  ex- 
istence —  he  looked  at  the  others  for  help. 

"  You  may  not  remember  him,  Mr.  Storey,"  Nina  an- 
swered, "  he  is  Goeffrey's  cousin  —  he  has  been  abroad 
for  years  —  but  he  was  here  that  day  when  Mr.  Pan- 
dolfi  came  in  and  told  us  about  my  father  —  and  — 
and  he  has  been  coming  here  ever  since  and  we  are 
afraid  that  Constance  is  getting  to  be  too  fond  of 
him.  We  know  that  she  is." 

A  dark  flush  rose  up  under  Storey's  swarthy  skin, 
but  he  said  quietly : 

"  And  why  should  she  not  be  fond  of  him  ?  " 

'*  Because,"  interrupted  Mr.  Bancroft,  "  he's  a  ras- 
cal, a  damned  intriguing,  mercenary  rascal;  because 
he  hasn't  a  penny  and  wants  her  money;  because  he's 
a  gambler  and  a  reprobate  and  — " 

"Wait  —  wait,"  interrupted  Storey,  holding  up  his 
hand.  "  Goeffrey,"  he  added,  "  you  know  him  perhaps 
better  than  Mr.  Bancroft,  what  do  you  think  of  him?  " 

"  All  I  can  say,"  answered  Goeffrey,  "  is  that  I  don't 
think  Richard  is  the  right  sort  for  Constance  —  I  think 
Mr.  Bancroft  really  knows  more  about  him  than  I  do. 
It's  hard  to  express  my  meaning,  but  if  no  one  knew 
anything  against  him,  I  would  feel  that  she  is  —  well, 
different  somehow." 

"  I  can't  seem  to  remember  him,"  said  Storey,  "  you 
say  that  he  was  here  that  day?  " 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  233 

"  Yes,  he  came  in,  late  with  Mrs.  Martel." 

Then  Storey  knew,  and  at  the  same  moment  Con- 
stance's manner  was  explained.  It  was  plain  that  she 
contemplated  some  action  which  she  knew  would  wound 
him  and  perhaps  seriously  jeopardize  their  long  friend- 
ship. It  did  not  seem  like  her  —  why  could  she  not  have 
been  frank  —  that  would  have  hurt  him  less  than  this  — 
not  to  be  candid  after  all  their  years  of  intimacy,  of 
mutual  regard  and  kindness,  this  was  not  like  his  idea 
of  her.  Had  he  been  mistaken?  And  then  he  looked 
up  and  she  stood  in  the  doorway,  tall,  beautiful  and 
disdainful.  She  came  in  very  quietly  and  everyone  got 
up  with  a  simultaneous  and  mechanical  movement. 

"  I  couldn't  help  hearing  you,"  she  said.  She  seemed 
to  speak  to  them  all,  but  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  Storey. 
"  If  you  discuss  my  affairs  in  my  own  house  with  the 
door  open,  you  must  not  blame  me  if  you  are  overheard, 
but  I  shall  not  discuss  them  with  you,  because  they  con- 
cern no  one  except  myself,"  and  she  turned  to  go  out 
again. 

Mr.  Bancroft  raised  both  his  hands  to  her  implor- 
ingly. "  Constance,  listen,"  he  said,  "  for  one  moment, 
listen  to  me." 

She  turned  on  him  savagely  — "  I  have  listened," 
she  answered.  "  I  heard  what  you  were  saying  and  I 
know  all  the  scandalous  stories  you  would  like  to  repeat 
to  me  —  and  I  have  no  patience  with  people  who  re- 
peat them,  who  have  so  little  to  do  that  they  busy  them- 
selves in  gathering  them  together.  Oh,  Julicn,  that 
you  — " 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Constance,"  Mr.  Bancroft  repeated  imploringly. 
"  Let  me  speak  to  you  —  give  me  five  minutes." 

"  No,  Julicn,  I  shall  not,"  she  answered,  turning  her 
back  on  him,  "  and  Vincent,"  she  added,  "  don't  go  yet, 
I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

Mr.  Bancroft,  who  seemed  crushed,  went  out  of  the 
room  with  Nina  and  Goeffrey.  Constance  shut  the  door 
after  them  and  came  back  quickly  to  where  Storey  was 
standing. 

"  Already,"  she  said,  "  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  bitterly,  "  already." 

"  And  you  will  not?  "  she  asked. 

Storey  had  been  hurt  too  deeply  to  answer. 

"  Already,"  she  went  on,  "  I  have  put  your  promise 
of  faith  and  friendship  to  the  test,  was  it  worth  so 
little?" 

"How  did  you  get  it?" 

"  Was  I  dishonest  with  you  ?  " 

"Were  you  frank?"  he  answered,  "did  I  not  de- 
serve better  treatment  at  your  hands  ?  " 

"  Think  —  of  what  you  had  just  said  to  me." 

"  I  would  not  begrudge  you  happiness  —  but  Con- 
stance —  if  this  is  what  you  had  in  mind  when  you  said 
that  you  were  going  away  in  search  of  it  —  you  are 
making  a  mistake  —  a  fatal  one." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  know  certain  things. 

"And  you  have  stories  too,  to  tell?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  story,  but  it  is  not  mine  to  tell  without 
permission.  Listen,  Constance,  do  you  believe,  even 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  23S 

after  what  I  said  to  you  to-day,  that  I  could  put  my  own 
hopes  and  wishes  aside  and  think  only  of  your  hap- 
piness—  disregarding  my  own?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it,  Vincent,"  she  answered,  "  if  any 
one  could."  But  there  was  a  note  of  coldness  in  her 
voice. 

"  Wait,"  said  Storey. 

He  went  into  the  little  telephone  room  in  the  hall 
and  called  up  Martel's  house. 

"  Is  Mr.  Martel  there?  " 

"  No,  sir,  he  is  away,"  a  servant's  voice  answered. 

"  Can  he  be  reached  by  telephone?  " 

"  No,  sir,  he  is  on  Mr.  Vernay's  yacht." 

"When  do  you  expect  him?" 

"  He  will  be  here  on  Saturday,  sir." 

"  Are  you  sure?  " 

"  Quite  sure,  sir,  he  said  he  would  positively  be  back 
on  Saturday." 

Storey  hung  up  the  receiver  and  went  back  to  her. 
"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "  I  wanted  to  get  permission  to 
tell  you  something,  but  the  person  is  away  and  I  cannot 
possibly  know  until  Saturday,  may  I  see  you  then? 
Remember  that  whatever  I  tell  you,  you  may  rely  upon 
as  being  true." 

"  Very  well,  Vincent,  come  Saturday,"  she  said  coldly. 

"  And  Constance,"  he  began,  but  she  interrupted 
him. 

"  Oh,  please,  please  let  me  alone,"  she  cried ;  "  forgive 
me,"  she  added,  "  I  don't  mean  to  be  rude,  but  I'm  tired 
—  yes  —  come  Saturday,  in  the  afternoon." 


236  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Very  well,"  he  repeated.  "  Saturday  in  the  after- 
noon." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her  as  he  went  out  —  and 
there  was  something  in  her  attitude,  something  friend- 
less and  lonely,  that  wrung  his  heart.  He  felt  that  if 
he  went  back  to  her  and  took  her  in  his  arms,  he  might 
win  her  —  he  hesitated,  but  he  was  afraid. 

Mr.  Bancroft  and  Goeffrey  were  standing  before  the 
house  talking  together  and  his  car  was  just  coming  up. 
Storey  offered  to  take  them  down  and  they  got  in  with 
him.  It  was  one  of  those  balmy  days  in  Spring  when 
one  becomes  suddenly  aware  that  the  earth,  in  some 
magic  way,  has  clothed  itself  over  night  in  green.  The 
sun  was  setting  and  long  shadows  fell  across  the  lawns 
of  the  park.  The  air  was  motionless  and  the  small 
leaves  of  the  trees  seemed  floating  in  some  golden  me- 
dium. On  the  east  drive  they  could  see  lines  of  carriages 
and  motors  passing  endlessly  —  and  in  the  golden  light 
all  was  mellowed.  The  cries  of  children,  the  whir  of 
motors,  the  jingling  of  harness  chains,  the  clash  of 
hoofs,  the  light  beating  on  the  spokes  of  varnished 
wheels,  the  emerald  of  the  trees  and  lawns,  the  great 
houses  facing  the  park,  the  broad  avenue,  all  the  color, 
light,  sound,  was  blended  by  the  mellow  radiance  of  the 
descending  sun,  into  a  picture  which  was  opulent  and 
impressive  —  imperial  and  splendid. 

Mr.  Bancroft  seemed  stupefied,  crushed.  His  idol 
had  turned  on  him  when  he  was  doing  his  best  to  save 
her  from  destruction.  Storey  pitied  him  sincerely. 

"  Cheer  up,  Julien,"  he  said,  "  we  may  do  something 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  237 

yet.  I  am  to  see  her  again  on  Saturday,"  but  as  he 
spoke  they  passed  Richard.  He  did  not  see  them,  but 
all  three  looked  at  him  steadfastly.  Storey  with  special 
keenness.  He  was  dressed  for  the  afternoon  —  wore  a 
silk  hat  and  carried  a  stick  —  as  many  men  were  doing, 
but  in  everything  about  him,  his  face  like  that  of  the 
incomparable  Hermes,  with  its  youthful  and  half  smiling 
mouth,  his  walk,  his  shoulders,  the  poise  of  his  head, 
the  swing  of  his  arms,  his  boots,  his  clothes,  his  gloves, 
there  was  an  extraordinary  distinction,  a  mingling  of 
sophistication  and  romance  which  had  in  them  the  sov- 
ereignty of  beauty  and  made  him  formidable  —  and 
Storey  thinking  of  his  own  disfigured  face,  his  huge 
and  ungainly  shape,  pitted  against  that  faun,  that 
young  god  —  laughed  suddenly  so  harshly  that  the 
others  looked  at  him  in  wonder. 

"For  man,  power,"  Constance  had  said  —  power! 
—  what  was  it?  He  had  power,  such  as  few  men  had, 
yet  against  this  youth  he  felt  that  he  was  powerless  — 
as  if  he  were  pitted  against  one  who  carried  weapons 
more  invincible  than  any  he,  with  all  his  resources,  could 
avail  himself  of. 

The  next  day,  Friday,  Goeffrey  went  early  to  look  at 
the  property  Mr.  Eckstein  had  offered  him.  He  spent 
an  hour  there,  looked  at  it  from  every  point;  paced  it 
off  to  see  if  the  Jew  had  been  correct  in  the  dimensions 
he  had  given  him,  climbed  the  fence  even  and  descended 
into  the  excavation  and  then  his  imagination  already  at 
work,  hurried  back  and  began  at  once  to  make  plans  for 
a  building  such  as  Eckstein  had  suggested.  The  work 


238  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

fascinated  him,  he  was  enthralled  by  it.  He  went  to 
luncheon  and  hurried  back  to  work  at  it  again  —  dined 
at  his  club  and  could  hardly  wait  to  finish  his  coffee. 
He  superimposed  sheet  after  sheet  of  tracing  paper, 
one  on  the  other,  each  plan  suggesting  arrangements 
which  seemed  an  improvement  on  the  last.  He  whistled 
and  was  happy.  Suddenly  the  telephone  bell  tinkled 
in  his  office.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  it  was  eleven 
o'clock. 

"  It  is  Nina,"  he  heard  a  faint  voice  answer. 
"  Nina,"  he  repeated  in  surprise,  "  are  you  in  town?  " 
"  Yes,"   she   answered,   "  I   am   here  at   Constance's. 
After  you  had  gone  she  asked  me  to  stay,  I  am  here 
now,  and  Goeffrey,  they  are  married  —  Constance  and 
Richard." 

"  Married !  good  God !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  when  ?  " 
"Here — a   little   while   ago  —  they   have   just  left 
for  the  steamer  —  they  sail  early  to-morrow  morning." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

STOREY  dined  alone  that  night.  In  his  thoughts, 
doubt,  fear  and  a  strange  unlocked  for  hope  were 
mingled.  Constance  had  said  that  those  physical  de- 
fects which  he  had  thought  were  insurmountable  and  the 
possession  of  which  had  darkened  his  life,  didn't  count. 
It  must  be  then  that  women  looked  deeper,  saw  other 
things  in  a  man  and  in  that  case  he  might  possess  those 
things  too,  and  Whitely's  mere  beauty  would  not  give 
him  the  advantage  Storey  had  feared.  But  she  loved 
Whitely —  what  then?  This  did  not  disturb  him  greatly 
and  the  fact  that  it  did  not,  either  revealed  his  ignorance 
of  certain  feminine  traits'  or  indicated  a  belief  that  Con- 
stance was  so  far  above  the  average  woman,  that  in- 
finitely greater  and  juster  things  might  be  expected 
of  her.  Lovers  I  am  told  often  take  this  point  of  view, 
even  the  least  imaginative  ones.  Mr.  Bancroft  had  seen 
the  futility  of  going  to  Constance  with  any  revelations 
of  Richard's  life,  but  Storey  felt  quite  sure  that 
once  she  knew  what  he  had  to  tell  her,  provided  Martel 
gave  him  permission,  she  would  break  with  him  forever. 
But  at  the  same  time,  he  doubted  and  feared.  Doubted 
his  ability  even  if  Whitely  should  no  longer  be  a  menace, 
to  win  her  for  himself,  and  feared  as  he  thought  of  the 
future  —  that  something  might  be  hidden  in  its  ob- 


240  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

scurity  which  would  make  what  he  longed  for  impos- 
sible. 

He  rose  from  the  table,  passed  through  a  large  draw- 
ing-room, crossed  the  hall,  and  went  up  the  broad 
staircase  to  his  library,  an  immense  apartment  on  the 
second  floor.  The  house  was  filled  with  the  results  of 
his  labors  as  a  collector,  a  labor  to  which  he  brought 
a  real  love  of  art  and  wealth  inexhaustible,  but  to-night, 
stimulated  by  his  new  born  hope,  his  tapestries,  his 
porcelains,  his  gems,  his  silver,  all  his  priceless  treasures, 
seemed  worthless  to  him  compared  to  that  one  treasure 
which  he  longed  to  possess. 

As  he  entered  the  library,  the  telephone  sounded  and 
going  to  it  a  servant  asked  him  if  he  would  speak  to 
Mr.  Martel.  He  turned  the  switch,  isolating  the  instru- 
ment which  he  was  using,  and  called  into  it. 

"Charles?5* 

"  Yes." 

"  They  told  me  you  were  away  and  would  not  be  back 
until  Saturday." 

"  I  will  explain  that  —  but  I  must  see  you  at  once, 
Vincent." 

Storey  noticed  a  suppressed  excitement  in  Martel's 
tone. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  be  here,  and  I  am 
alone." 

"  No,"  answered  Martel,  "  I  must  see  you  at  my 
house,  please  come  at  once,  will  you?  It  is  most  im- 
portant; that's  all  it  is  possible  for  me  to  say  now. 
Will  you  come  ?  " 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  241 

"  Yes,  I  will  come,"  Storey  replied. 

He  had  but  two  blocks  to  go  and  in  five  minutes  rang 
Martel's  door  bell. 

"  You  are  expected,  sir,"  the  servant  said,  "  Mr.  Mar- 
tel  is  in  his  study." 

He  found  Martel  walking  quickly  up  and  down.  On 
seeing  Storey,  he  said,  "  You  will  remember  our  talk 
in  this  room  a  few  months  ago  —  well,  the  time  has  come 
when  I  must  ask  you  to  help  me."  He  went  out  into 
the  hall  and  speaking  to  the  servant,  so  that  Storey 
would  not  hear,  said :  "  Ask  Mrs.  Martel  to  come  down, 
please,"  and  returning,  he  shut  the  door  and  resumed  his 
rapid  pacing  to  and  fro. 

Martel  had  struggled  desperately  with  himself  be- 
fore he  had  opened  the  letter  which  Hortense  had  so 
treacherously  left  on  his  table;  struggled  against  what 
he  knew  to  be  an  inexcusable  and  dishonorable  act ;  but 
the  rage  which  increased  in  him  at  the  thought  that  his 
wife  persisted  in  disobeying  him  by  continuing  to  com- 
municate with  Richard,  overcame  his  scruples  and  he 
had  read  it.  Its  contents  indicated  so  plainly  her  re- 
lations with  Whitely  and  showed  so  clearly  how  he  could 
obtain  evidence  which  would  put  her  completely  at  his 
mercy,  that  he  was  startled;  because  he  realized  that 
at  last  he  must  act,  that  some  decisive  step  must  be 
taken  —  the  letter  had  made  the  situation  so  plain  to 
him,  that  it  was  impossible  to  ignore  it. 
He  must  consider  what  to  do. 

First  —  Instead  of  posting  the  letter  as  he  had  meant 
to  do,  he  could  take  it  to  her  —  confess  that  he  had  read 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

it  and  explain  that  as  it  had  shown  him  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  them  to  continue  longer,  even  the  semblance 
of  marriage,  he  was  prepared  to  give  her  her  freedom. 
But  there  were  serious  objections  to  this  plan  —  the 
children  —  would  he  give  them  up.  No  —  would  she? 
No,  besides  he  was  simply  throwing  his  wife  into  the 
arms  of  a  man  he  hated  —  and  his  rage  at  this  thought 
made  him  cast  the  whole  idea  aside  as  one  which  he 
could  not  possibly  accept. 

Second  —  He  could  tell  her  that  he  had  read  the  letter 
and  insist  on  a  separation,  stipulating  that  while  it 
would  be  impossible  to  live  under  the  same  roof  with 
her,  he  would  take  no  action  against  her  and  there  would 
be  no  scandal.  He  would  give  the  children  into  her  care, 
reserving  the  right  of  course  to  see  them  when  he 
chose.  He  would  do  this  on  condition  that  she  should 
not  see  Whitely  again.  But  why  exact  such  a  promise? 
One  which  she  had  already  made,  and  had  broken.  This 
plan  was  absurd  because  it  would  leave  them  precisely 
where  they  were  before. 

Third  —  He  could  take  advantage  of  the  information 
contained  in  the  letter,  secure  the  necessary  evidence,  drag 
her  into  court,  disgrace  and  divorce  her  and  give  her 
into  her  lover's  arms,  indelibly  branded  and  besmirched. 

Martel  finally  decided  on  the  second  plan  with  this 
modification  —  he  would  conceal  the  fact  that  he  had 
read  the  letter,  secure  his  evidence  against  her  and  then 
explain  his  scheme,  giving  her  plainly  to  understand 
that  she  was  in  his  power  and  that  should  she  break  her 
promise  to  him  a  second  time,  she  would  be  deliberately 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  243 

condemning  herself  to  the  ordeal  and  the  humiliation 
of  a  public  divorce.  Martel  smiled  to  himself  at  the  in- 
genuity of  his  plan.  She  would  be  free  apparently, 
not  even  under  the  restraint  of  his  presence,  but  always 
about  her  throat,  like  an  invisible  rope,  would  hang  the 
noose  of  his  evidence  against  her,  ready  to  tighten  and 
strangle  her  should  she  step  down  for  one  moment  from 
the  narrow  path  of  conduct  he  would  mark  out  for  her. 

This  plan  decided  on,  he  proceeded  to  act  upon  it, 
when  a  new  difficulty  presented  itself.  A  sense  of  dis- 
gust, of  repulsion  filled  him  when  he  finally  realized  all 
the  base  and  sordid  expedients  he  must  have  recourse 
to;  the  spying,  the  deception.  He  felt  an  almost  over- 
powering sense  of  degradation  when  he  first  began 
negotiations  with  the  dirty  band  he  must  employ  to  do 
his  dirty  business,  and  realized  that  he  was  placing  in 
their  hands,  the  secret  of  his  wife's  dishonor.  Only 
his  bitter  resentment  toward  her  enabled  him  to  go  on 
with  it,  but  after  he  had  taken  the  first  step,  the  wounds 
he  received  with  each  report  from  his  agents,  seemed  to 
goad  him  into  a  madness  which  spurred  him  to  still 
greater  efforts  against  her;  into  a  frenzy  which  he 
knew  would  not  leave  him  until  he  had  overwhelmed  her 
with  the  revelation  of  his  intimate  knowledge  of  her 
guilt.  He  waited  with  almost  uncontrollable  impatience 
the  consummation  of  his  plans,  rehearsed  over  and  over 
in  his  thoughts  the  scene  in  which  he  would  confound 
her,  and  in  the  anticipation  of  his  vengeance,  experienced 
a  savage,  an  almost  intolerable  joy. 

Martel  stopped  at  last  before  Storey  and  said: 


£44  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Listen,  Vincent,  after  our  talk  I  determined  to  sep- 
arate from  my  wife,  but  I  wished  to  be  in  a  position 
where,  as  she  had  injured  me  so  cruelly,  I  could  dictate 
what  terms  I  chose.  They  told  you  to-day  that  I  was 
on  Vernay's  yacht,  but  I  have  been  in  the  city  constantly 
—  watching,  do  you  understand  —  watching.  I  did 
this  because  I  had  reason  to  think  that  they  were  becom- 
ing suspicious,  but  I  believe  now  that  I  was  mistaken. 
They  suspect  nothing  and  I  am  glad  —  I  didn't  want 
them  to  know  —  I  wanted  to  stun  them,  to  terrify  them." 

"  Am  I  to  infer  that  you  have  been  watching  your 
wife?"  asked  Storey. 

"  Yes,"  Martel  replied  shortly,  and  as  Storey  made 
no  comment  he  added,  "  wouldn't  you  have  done  so  under 
the  circumstances?" 

"  I  would  not,"  answered  Storey. 

"Why,  may  I  ask?"  Martel  spoke  almost  with  a 
sneer. 

"  Let  me  ask  you  a  question,  why  did  you  ?  " 

"  To  punish  her  for  what  she  has  done  to  me  —  to 
make  her  suffer,  as  she  has  made  me.  To  have  always 
in  my  hand,  a  whip  to  lash  her  if  I  choose,  for  dishonor- 
ing me." 

*'  You  are  naturally  a  kindly  man,"  said  Storey,  "  but 
you  have  brooded  too  much  about  this  matter.  Those 
are  very  barbarous  sentiments  of  yours." 

"  How,  barbarous, —  they  are  natural  ones,  aren't 
they?" 

"  For  a  savage,  yes,  but  they're  not  worthy  of  you. 
She  has  hurt  your  pride,  so  you  will  humiliate  her,  you 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  245 

will  make  her  suffer  because  she  has  wounded  you  — 
*  An  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth ' —  Did  she  do 
what  she  has  done  for  the  purpose  of  injuring  you?  " 

"  She  could  have  avoided  doing  it." 

"  Love  is  a  strong  thing,  my  dear  fellow." 

"  Then  why  not  have  come  to  me  at  first  and  told  me." 

"  Oh !  come,  come,"  interrupted  Storey,  "  be  honest 
with  yourself." 

"  But  to  deceive  me,"  Martel  went  on  without 
heeding  him  — "  to  lie  to  me  —  no  —  no  —  revenge  is 
sweet  — " 

"  Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,"  said  Storey 
solemnly. 

The  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Martel  came  into  the  room. 

Knowing  her  secret,  there  was  something  pitiful  to 
Storey  in  the  false  and  smiling  look  she  cast  at  them  — 
and  in  her  expression  something  both  doubting  and  de- 
fiant too,  as  if  she  might  say  to  them : 

"  If  you  knew  all,  you  would  scorn  me,  but  why  should 
it  be  a  sin  for  one  to  be  happy?  I  do  not  wish  you  any 
harm,  but  that  which  possesses  me  is  stronger  than  my- 
self. Must  you  punish  me  for  it?  You  do  not  say  that 
I  shall  not  eat  if  I  am  hungry,  drink  if  I  am  thirsty  or 
sleep  if  I  am  tired  —  and  nature  made  love  stronger 
than  all  of  these  feelings.  Why  then  do  you  forbid 
people  to  love  when  you  know  that  to  love  or  not  to  love 
is  something  over  which  they  have  no  control?  There 
is  a  cruelty,  an  injustice  about  this  which  I  cannot  un- 
derstand." 

She  wore  one  of  those  dresses  of  clinging  chiffon  which 


246  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

revealed  her  perfect  figure  and  displayed  the  ivory  white- 
ness of  her  arms  and  shoulders.  She  made  a  gesture  of 
pleased  surprise  at  seeing  Storey  and  turning  to  her 
husband  she  said : 

"  Did  you  wish  to  see  me,  Charles?  " 

Martel  went  quickly  to  the  door,  locked  it  and  put  the 
key  in  his  pocket.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  while  a  blaze  of 
ferocity  appeared  in  his  intensely  blue  eyes.  "  I  wished 
to  see  you  —  because  for  three  months  I  have  known 
every  step  you  have  taken,  the  particulars  of  every  as- 
signation you  have  given  your  lover  and  to-night  I  pro- 
pose to  settle  my  account  with  you." 

Mrs.  Martel  turned  ghastly  pale  and  sat  down  very 
slowly  on  a  small  chair  which  stood  in  front  of  Martel's 
desk.  It  seemed  as  if  she  tried  to  speak,  but  before  she 
could  do  so,  Storey  got  up,  saying : 

"  This  is  something  which  concerns  yourself  and  your 
wife  —  you  shouldn't  have  asked  me  to  come  here." 

"  I  will  explain  why  I  asked  you,"  Martel  answered 
and  turning  to  his  wife  he  went  on,  "  Yes  —  to-night  I 
shall  settle  my  account  with  you.  For  a  long  time  you 
have  overridden  my  wishes,  ignored  your  own  sacred 
duties  toward  me1  and  have  shown  yourself  callously  in- 
different to  my  honor,  your  own  and  your  children's.  I 
know  why  you  have  done  this,  because  you  thought  your- 
self safe,  you  felt  sure  that  I  was  too  weak,  too  inert  to 
assert  myself,  that  you  could  impose  on  me  with  im- 
punity. I  shall  show  you  now  how  much  you  were  mis- 
taken; that  the  fool  you  have  no  doubt  sneered  at  so 
often,  is  not  quite  the  fool  you  thought." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Mrs.  Martel  sat  motionless  except  for  a  slight  spas- 
modic contraction  of  the  muscles  of  the  throat  from  time 
to  time,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  swallow.  She  was  still 
ghastly  pale  and  her  dark  eyes  under  her  fair  hair 
stared  straight  in  front  with  a  fixed  expression  as  if  she 
saw  approaching  her,  in  some  dreadful  shape,  the  ir- 
revocable consequences  of  her  folly  —  approaching 
swiftly  and  implacably  to  destroy  her. 

"  But  in  spite  of  what  I  have  suffered  at  your  hands," 
Martel  went  on,  "  I  have  determined  to  be  lenient  with 
you  as  I  shall  explain  presently,  and  I  shall  refrain  from 
disgracing  you  publicly  so  long  as  you  follow  my  in- 
structions to  the  letter.  I  shall  ask  you  to  make  no 
promises,  because  I  know  that  you  are  incapable  of  keep- 
ing them,  but  be  sure  that  I  shall  arrange  matters  so 
that  I  shall  be  kept  well  advised  of  every  step  you  take. 
Whether  you  disobey  me  or  not,  is  a  matter  of  profound 
indifference  to  me.  I  am  simply  giving  you  one  more 
chance  to  save  yourself  from  disgrace.  You  are  to  go 
to  Fernleigh,"  naming  his  place  in  New  England,  "  tak- 
ing the  children  with  you  —  you  are  to  send  them  to 
town  at  any  time,  when  I  should  wish  to  see  them,  but 
you  are  to  stay  there  —  permanently  —  summer  and 
winter.  The  grounds  are  large  and  afford  ample  oppor- 
tunity for  exercise  so  that  it  will  never  be  necessary  for 
you  to  leave  them,  in  fact  you  are  not  to  do  so  under  any 
pretext  and  you  shall  never  send  any  letter  or  any  com- 
munication of  any  sort  to  anyone,  whatever,  except  to 
myself  or  through  me.  Those  are  my  terms  —  really 
they  arc  not  bad,"  he  said  with  a  sneer.  "  The  servants 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

whom  I  shall  provide,  will  be  numerous  enough  for  all 
your  requirements,  and  I  shall  give  you  an  ample  allow- 
ance. You  will  be  enabled  to  lead  a  simple  and  healthy 
life  which  will  be  of  benefit  to  you  and  you  may  even 
develop  habits  of  contemplation  sufficiently  profound  so 
that  after  a  time  it  may  dawn  on  you  that  it  was  not  I 
after  all  who  has  been  the  fool.  My  alternative  is  —  a 
public  divorce." 

"  Mrs.  Martel,"  Storey  broke  in,  "  please  understand 
that  I  am  a  most  unwilling  Avitness  here,  that  Charles's 
act  in  asking  me  to  come  was  inexcusable,  and  it  is  un- 
becoming for  me  to  take  any  part  in  this  matter  at  all, 
but  I  feel  that  I  must  give  you  my  advice  —  don't 
accept  his  offer,  it  is  brutal  and  inhuman,  he  virtually 
proposes  to  put  you  in  prison  —  refuse  —  I  doubt  if 
he  would  be  willing  to  face  a  public  scandal," —  and 
turning  to  Martel  he  added,  "  No  good  can  come  of  such 
an  arrangement  —  get  divorced  as  quietly  as  possible 

—  such  things  can  always  be  arranged,  send  Mrs.  Mar- 
tel west  or  go  yourself." 

Then  Mrs.  Martel  spoke  and  her  voice,  her  ex- 
pression were  those  of  one  beaten  down  into  a  pro- 
found dejection,  into  a  hopeless  and  immitigable  de- 
spair. 

"  But  if  there  is  a  divorce,  he  will  insist  on  having 
the  children  and  oh!  Mr.  Storey,  I  can't  give  them  up 

—  they're  all  I  have.     He  knows  that  I  will  do  anything 
to  keep  them  with  me." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  her  shoulders 
were  shaken  with  sobs. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  249 

"  All  you  have,"  repeated  Martel  malignantly,  "  is 
not  your  lover  worth  taking  in  exchange  for  them?  " 

"  For  shame,"  said  Storey  contemptuously.  "  You 
are  forfeiting  all  right  to  sympathy." 

"  I  don't  want  your  sympathy,"  Martel  retorted 
furiously,  "  and  let  me  tell  you  something,  I  will  advise 
her  to  take  the  alternate  of  a  divorce  —  public  though 
it  will  be,  for  I  shall  never  consent  to  anything  else  — 
I  advise  her  to  do  it,  do  you  know  why?  Because  sooner 
or  later  it  is  inevitable  —  I  know  to  the  bottom  her  false 
and  insincere  nature  —  that  she  can't  be  honest  —  and 
that  even  now  she  is  hoping  that  it  will  be  possible  to 
hoodwink  me  under  the  conditions  which  I  insist  upon. 
And  she  will  try,  I  know  her  • —  because  she  has  an  in- 
corrigible faith  in  her  powers  of  deception,  even  after 
what  has  passed.  Any  promise  she  may  make  me,  will 
be  an  insincere  one  —  I  know  that.  I  know  quite  well 
what  she  will  do,  she  will  accept  my  terms,  go  to  Fern- 
leigh  and  try  to  evade  them," —  and  turning  to  his 
wife,  "  Well,  what  do  you  intend  to  do?  " 

"  I  will  do  what  you  force  me  to  do." 

"  I  force  you  to  do  nothing.  Do  you  mean  that  you 
will  go  to  Fernleigh?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Very  well,"  he  placed  some  writing  paper  before 
her  on  the  desk,  drew  a  note  book  from  his  pocket  and 
standing  beside  her  he  said,  "  write." 

"Write?"  she  asked,  at  a  loss  to  understand  what 
was  wanted  of  her. 

"  Yes,  write,  what  I  shall  dictate  to  you." 


£50  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  I  don't  understand,  is  it  an  agreement?  " 

"  No,  it  is  a  confession." 

"  A  confession?  " 

"  Yes  —  your  confession  written  in  your  own  hand 
of  all  the  knowledge  I  hold  against  you." 

"  Charles ! "  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  blazing,  "  how 
dare  you,  I  shall  not." 

"  Write,"  he  repeated. 

"  No." 

"  Write." 

"  Have  you  gone  stark  mad,"  cried  Storey,  overcome 
by  anger  and  indignation.  "  Such  a  paper  would  be 
of  no  use  in  law  —  besides  if  you  have  evidence,  why 
should  you  want  it?  You  have  no  right  to  torture  her 
like  this." 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Martel  jumped  to  her  feet  and  crying, 
"  Oh !  let  me  go,  let  me  go,"  ran  to  the  door,  seized  the 
knob  and  began  turning  it  desperately. 

Martel  went  quickly  up  to  her  and  putting  his  face 
close  to  hers  he  hissed: 

"  I  will  let  you  go  —  but  if  you  do  your  children  will 
leave  this  house  to-night.  You  will  never  see  them 
again." 

"  Charles,"  cried  Storey,  "  I  swear,  that  if  you  don't 
end  this  insane  situation,  at  once,  I  will  use  physical 
force." 

Martel  burst  into  a  harsh,  a  terrible  laugh. 

"This  is  what  I  wanted  you  for  —  don't  you  see? 
to  give  her  a  taste  of  what  publicity  is  like.  She 
doesn't  relish  revealing  her  delinquencies  before  you. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

How  would  she  like  the  public  to  know  them;  to  have 
every  detail  given  to  the  world?  Shall  I  open  the 
door?  "  he  added. 

"  If  you  don't,  I  will  break  it  open,"  said  Storey. 

"  No !  no !  Mr.  Storey,  let  me  write  it,  I  beg  of  you 
—  let  me,"  Mrs.  Martel  entreated.  Her  eyes  were 
streaming  with  tears  and  she  trembled  violently.  "  He 
wants  to  drive  me  to  kill  myself,  but  I  will  have  my 
children  —  I  will  not  give  them  up."  She  sat  down  at 
the  desk  shaking  in  every  limb  and  took  up  her  pen. 
"  I  will  write  it,"  she  said,  and  Martel  began. 

Began  all  that  sad  and  dubious  chronicle  of  an  illicit 
companionship  —  slowly,  relentlessly,  without  evading 
one  fact  to  ease  the  shame  of  her  situation,  he  dictated 
word  for  word  the  record  of  his  spies'  reports.  His 
humiliation  of  her  was  so  brutal,  his  insistence  on  the 
smallest  details,  so  sinister,  and  his  agents  had  been 
most  thorough  in  the  task  he  had  given  them,  that 
Storey  attempted  more  than  once  to  end  it,  but  he  had 
found  himself  helpless  —  strong  and  dominant  though 
he  was  —  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  passions  which 
he  was  powerless  to  control,  the  more  so  because  she 
too  insisted  on  going  through  with  it  to  the  end.  Be- 
ginning with  a  shaking  hand  und  eyes  wet  with  tears, 
she  grew  stronger  as  the  ordeal  went  on  —  her  tears 
ceased  to  flow,  her  hand  grew  firm,  the  situation  de- 
veloped into  a  sort  of  duel  in  which  he,  by  heaping  on 
her  the  accumulated  evidence  against  her,  seemed  to 
be  trying  to  break  down  her  self-control,  while  she 
fought  to  preserve  it,  determined  to  submit  to  any 


252  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

cruelty,  any  insult,  rather  than  be  driven  to  a  step  which 
would  separate  her  from  her  children.  But  at  each 
moment,  in  the  burning  flush  which  had  mounted  to  her 
face,  in  the  curve  of  her  lips,  in  the  blaze  of  her  eyes, 
Storey  could  see  the  growth  of  a  fierce,  a  terrible 
hatred  against  her  husband.  Before,  she  had  pitied 
him,  because  she  felt  that  she  was  injuring  him  without 
being  able  not  to  do  so,  but  this  awful  outrage  against 
all  that  a  woman  instinctively  fights  to  conceal,  had 
roused  in  her  a  resentment  so  passionate,  that  no  cir- 
cumstance could  assuage  it.  He  had  subjected  her  to 
indignities  too  intolerable  ever  to  be  forgiven. 

When  she  had  finished  he  said,  "  Sign  it."  And  as 
she  wrote  her  name  at  the  bottom,  he  added: 

"  We  leave  on  the  ten  o'clock  train  to-morrow  morn- 
ing for  Fernleigh.  Have  the  children  ready.  I  shall 
return  here  to-morrow  night." 

Mrs.  Martel  got  up  without  speaking  and  standing 
quite  still  looked  into  her  husband's  eyes  with  a  gaze 
so  insupportable,  so  full  of  reproach,  of  pain,  of  anger, 
despair  and  hatred,  that  he  turned  away  from  her  and 
going  to  the  door  unlocked  it  in  silence.  She  went  out 
and  as  it  closed  after  her,  he  sat  down  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands. 

"  And  is  revenge  so  sweet,  now  that  you  have  tasted 
it?"  asked  Storey  scornfully.  But  as  Martel  made  no 
reply,  he  too  left  the  room  and  let  himself  out  into  the 
street. 

He  walked  slowly  back  to  his  house.  A  hint  of 
spring  was  in  the  air  and  a  fitful  and  balmy  breeze 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  253 

blew  at  intervals  through  the  silent  streets.  From  the 
avenues  not  far  away,  an  occasional  distant  roar  would 
arise,  lessening  again  into  silence.  Even  from  where 
he  walked,  he  could  see  the  towering  summits  of  the 
buildings.  The  city  seemed  not  asleep  but  brood- 
ing —  brooding  upon  all  the  acts,  the  tragedies,  the 
dramas,  the  joys  that  grow  and  pass  within  her  stony 
bosom  as  if  she  were  trying  in  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
to  solve  the  intricate  mystery  of  life  —  and  Storey  too 
thought  of  it,  thought  of  Martel,  of  his  wife,  of  Whitely, 
of  Constance, —  why  so  much  pain  —  so  much  hatred, 
such  despair,  such  suffering  —  what  was  the  meaning 
of  it  all  —  where  the  key  with  which  to  make  it  clear  ? 
He  thought  of  himself,  of  his  own  life  and  that  also  was 
incomprehensible  to  him;  because  he  felt  that  with  all 
his  possessions,  his  colossal  wealth,  which  amazed  even 
him  at  times,  all  his  power,  he  too,  even  as  the  least  of 
men,  was  moved  like  a  marionette  by  some  hidden  and  un- 
knowable force.  What  would  he  not  give  for  Con- 
stance, to  win  her  to  him,  but  how  helpless  he  was? 

As  his  mind  dwelt  on  her,  however,  his  sense  of  de- 
pression began  to  pass.  The  thought  of  her  seemed  to 
bid  him  to  look  up.  She  seemed  to  float  above  him  in 
the  ineffable  blue  of  the  sky,  like  a  star,  like  a  jewel", 
sincere  and  steadfast,  and  a  feeling  of  serenity,  of  com- 
fort, of  hope,  flooded  his  soul. 

Storey  too,  was  to  leave  town  the  next  morning.  It 
was  very  late  when  he  reached  home  and  he  was  to  take 
an  early  train,  but  as  he  ordered  his  life  with  great 
method,  as  was  indeed  necessary  for  one  with  such  multi- 


254?  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

farious  and  important  duties,  he  had  left  instructions 
to  be  called.  His  destination  was  a  great  tract  of  wild 
country  which  he  had  purchased  some  years  before  in 
the  northern  part  of  the  state,  and  which  he  was  grad- 
ually transferring  into  a  park  with  roads,  bridges, 
preserves  and  in  time  a  large  house.  He  derived  pleas- 
ure from  even  a  few  hours  passed  in  inspecting  ihe  work 
which  was  being  carried  on  on  a  vast  scale  and  which 
appealed  to  his  powerfully  developed  constructive  and 
administrative  ability. 

On  getting  up  on  Friday  morning  to  make  ready  for 
his  journey,  he  noticed  that  the  depression  of  the  night 
before,  caused  by  the  distressing  scene  between  Martel 
and  his  wife,  had  returned  and  he  could  not  shake  it 
off.  During  the  whole  of  his  visit  north,  it  weighed 
on  him.  That  night  he  slept  badly,  and  during  his 
journey  back  to  town  on  Saturday,  he  could  not  rid  him- 
self of  the  feeling  that  somehow  what  he  had  witnessed 
was  not  the  end,  that  something  distressing,  he  could 
not  tell  what,  would  result  from  it.  He  found  him- 
self thinking  about  that  migration  to  Fernleigh  which 
was  to  take  place  under  such  strange  conditions,  and 
wishing  heartily  that  he  knew  the  outcome  of  it.  He 
would  telephone  Martel's  house  when  he  got  home  to 
ascertain  if  he  had  returned. 

His  train  was  due  at  four  and  he  was  to  see  Con- 
stance at  five.  He  had  realized  that  he  could  not  ask 
Martel's  permission  to  disclose  to  her  the  secret  of 
Whitely's  relations  with  his  wife,  and  wondered  how  he 
could  have  ever  thought  it  possible.  Even  with  Martel's 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  255 

consent,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  do  so.  It  was  not 
MartePs  secret  alone,  but  another's  as  well.  All 
that  he  could  do,  would  be  to  tell  her  the  circumstances, 
revealing  no  names  and  ask  her  to  believe  that  he  was 
absolutely  sure  of  the  truth  of  his  assertions. 

Still  under  the  influence  of  his  vague  apprehensions, 
he  left  the  train  on  its  arrival,  determined  to  walk  to 
his  house  which  was  only  a  short  distance  from  the  sta- 
tion. As  he  passed  through  the  great  waiting  room  full 
of  noise  and  confusion,  he  glanced  at  a  news  stand  and 
saw  that  the  papers,  of  which  he  had  seen  none  since 
the  morning  before,  displayed  enormous  headlines,  as 
is  their  wont,  in  announcing  some  startling  or  important 
event,  and  at  that  moment  a  news  man  came  in  carrying 
a  bundle  of  a  late  edition  in  which  the  entire  front 
page  was  given  up  to  the  topic  which  was  evidently 
of  an  unusual  nature.  His  curiosity  aroused,  he  ap- 
proached the  stand  —  the  type  of  the  headlines  was  so 
large  that  before  he  reached  it,  he  could  read  them  and 
the  moment  he  did  so,  he  knew  that  the  reason  for  his 
apprehension  was  made  clear. 

FRIGHTFUL    DISASTER 

SOUND    STEAMERS    IN     COLLISION 

SCORES   OF    LIVES    LOST. 

He  knew  before  taking  the  paper  in  his  hand,  that 
Martel  was  concerned  in  it  and  a  rapid  examination  of 


256  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

the  account  confirmed  his  worst  fears.  His  name  was 
among  those  given  as  lost.  He  had  said  that  he  would 
be  in  town  on  Saturday  and  after  having  taken  Mrs. 
Martel  and  the  children  to  Fernleigh,  must  have  de- 
termined to  return  by  boat,  rather  than  to  wait  for  the 
morning  train. 

Storey  stood  stock  still  for  a  moment,  looking 
straight  ahead  without  seeing,  unmindful  of  the  fact 
that  his  well  known  figure  was  causing  many  curious 
glances  to  be  cast  toward  him,  and  then  passed  quickly 
out  of  the  main  vestibule  with  a  look  of  deep  abstraction 
on  his  face. 

He  paused  and  glanced  at  the  gray  sky.  As  he  came 
down  the  steps  of  the  station  to  the  sidewalk,  he  was 
immediately  engulfed,  submerged  in  the  noise  and  tur- 
moil of  the  streets.  In  the  inextricable  confusion,  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were  caught  in  the  grip  of  power- 
ful opposing  forces,  engaged  in  a  blind  struggle,  brutal 
and  unnecessary.  And  this  tumult,  this  disorderly 
melee,  undisciplined  prodigal  of  its  power,  seemed  to 
Storey  to  typify  life ;  the  same  waste  of  vital  forces ; 
the  same  spending  of  energy  —  as  if  except  for  the 
puny  efforts  of  man  to  regulate  himself,  due  to  an  in- 
stinct too  faint,  too  obscure  to  be  understood,  there 
were  no  laws  which  he  must  obey  except  those  which 
nature  herself  had  implanted  in  him,  which  were  in- 
imical to  him,  but  which  he  always  blindly  followed  and 
which  led  him  always  to  disaster. 

Martel,  forced  by  circumstances  into  a  life  of  un- 
happiness,  had  been  forced  by  them  into  a  condition 
almost  of  madness,  ending  in  an  explosion  of  unbridled 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  257 

hatred  —  anger  and  cruelty  —  and  in  the  midst  of 
his  suffering,  the  end  came.  How  sinister  it  seemed, 
how  useless. 

"  Vengeance  is  mine,  I  will  repay,"  he  repeated 
solemnly  to  himself. 

It  was  half  past  four  when  he  reached  his  house.  As- 
cending to  the  library  he  was  about  to  ring  for  a  serv- 
ant and  instruct  him  to  order  his  car,  when  he  saw 
on  the  table  a  package  of  papers  —  and  lying  on  top 
of  them,  a  note  addressed  in  Martel's  handwriting.  He 
opened  it  and  read: 

"  As  I  am  leaving  town  to-morrow  morning,  I  have 
decided  to  send  you  the  papers  which  accompany  this 
note.  They  contain  the  confession,  written  in  our 
presence  to-night ;  my  will,  and  certain  requests  I  would 
ask  you  to  comply  with  in  case  anything  should  happen 
to  me.  You  asked  me  just  as  you  were  leaving, 
*  Whether  revenge  was  sweet  now  that  I  had  tasted  it,' 
—  I  do  not  know.  It  would  seem  that  I  was  justified 
in  doing  what  I  did,  and  yet,  it  may  be  that  I  was 
wrong.  I  cannot  tell,  Vincent.  At  least,  forgive  me, 
for  making  you  a  participant  in  that  painful  interview." 

Storey  picked  up  the  package  of  papers  intending  to 
lock  them  in  his  desk,  but  as  he  did  so,  he  saw  a  note 
which  had  been  lying  beneath  them.  It  was  in  Con- 
stance's hand  and  had  been  posted  late  the  night  before. 
He  opened  it. 

"  Forgive  me,"  it  said,  "  when  I  told  you  to  come  on 
Saturday.  I  lied  to  you,  because  I  knew  that  I  would 
not  be  here." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SUMMER  had  come  and  town  was  deserted.  Nina,  Aunt 
Mary  and  the  children  had  gone  to  Lowlands,  Mrs. 
Aladine's  place  in  New  England,  having  gratefully 
accepted  her  offer  of  it  to  Nina  the  night  of  her  mar- 
riage. Goeffrey  went  to  Mrs.  Aladine's  the  morning 
after  Nina  had  telephoned.  Everything  had  been  ar- 
ranged for  some  days  apparently.  After  Storey,  Mr. 
Bancroft  and  Goeffry  had  left  the  house  on  Thursday, 
Nina  in  response  to  an  urgent  request  on  Mrs.  Aladine's 
part,  had  decided  to  stay  in  town  with  her  until  Satur- 
day at  least.  On  Friday  afternoon  a  number  of  trunks 
had  been  taken  away  and  toward  evening  she  saw  Mrs. 
Aladine's  maid  equipped  as  if  for  a  journey,  drive  off 
in  a  cab.  iShe  and  Mrs.  Aladine  had  dined  alone 
together,  and  it  was  not  until  ten  o'clock  when  Richard 
was  announced  that  Constance  had  told  her.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Vanderveer  and  a  clergyman  arrived  a  moment 
after  and  as  soon  as  the  ceremony  had  been  performed, 
Constance  and  Richard  had  left  at  once  for  the  steamer 
which  was  to  sail  at  half  past  six  the  next  morning. 

And  Goeffrey  was  happy  again.  He  had  made  his 
peace  with  Nina  and  he  was  to  build  his  building.  He 
had  decided  to  embark  on  this  venture  almost  at  once, 
relying  solely  in  his  own  judgment.  He  had,  it  is  true, 
consulted  his  lawyer  about  it,  who  had  urged  him  not  to, 

258 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  259 

but  as  this  wasn't  the  sort  of  advice  he  wanted,  he  had 
not  seen  him  again  and  on  Eckstein's  visit  the  following 
week,  had  told  him  that  he  had  reached  a  favorable  de- 
cision in  the  matter,  engaged  an  assistant  and  started 
at  once  on  the  plans.  They  worked  day  and  night  on 
them,  but  every  Friday  Goeffrey  would  take  the  train 
for  Lowlands,  five  hours  away,  returning  on  Monday 
morning. 

Goeffrey's  first  disappointment  came,  when  on  com- 
pleting his  drawings,  and  inviting  bids  on  them  he  found 
that  his  building  would  cost  a  hundred  thousand  more 
than  Eckstein's  loan.  He  began  at  once  on  other  plans, 
economizing  wherever  it  was  possible  to  do  so,  and  re- 
duced the  estimate  of  the  lowest  contractors  by  twenty- 
five  thousand.  Further  study  of  the  situation  con- 
vinced him  that  he  could  do  no  better.  He  consulted 
Eckstein. 

"  Get  more  rent  for  your  flats,"  said  the  latter,  "  by 
the  time  it  is  built  you  can  do  it." 

"  But  if  I  borrow  enough  on  a  permanent  loan  to 
pay  you  off,  I  shall  still  be  seventy-five  thousand  in 
debt,"  answered  Goeffrey. 

"  Well,  your  larger  income  will  increase  the  value  of 
it  and  if  it  should  be  necessary  to  raise  a  small  addi- 
tional amount,  you  can  always  do  that  by  placing  a 
second  mortgage.  If  you  create  a  sinking  fund  you  will 
soon  be  able  to  pay  that  off  and  then  you  will  be  all 
right  again." 

Goeffrey  went  back,  let  his  contracts  and  the  build- 
ing was  started ;  but  as  the  work  got  underway,  he  found 


260  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

himself  facing  another  difficulty.  The  matter  of  pay- 
ments. While  the  most  expensive  portion  of  the  work 
was  that  which  was  performed  during  the  earlier  stages 
of  construction,  he  found  in  his  contract  with  Eckstein 
that  the  preliminary  payments  of  the  building  loan 
were  unduly  small  and  that  they  increased  as  the  build- 
ing neared  completion.  In  this  way  it  was  plain  that 
for  the  main  portion  of  the  work  he  would  not  have 
the  use  of  Eckstein's  money  when  it  was  most  needed, 
but  must  manage  on  the  small  first  installments  and 
what  money  he  could  himself  furnish.  He  went  to  see 
Eckstein  again.  The  latter  informed  him  that  this 
was  the  customary  method,  was  indeed  necessary  for  the 
protection  of  the  lender.  As  an  illustration,  he  had 
known  of  a  transaction  where  the  preliminary  payments 
had  been  large,  in  which  the  builder  had  disappeared 
after  getting  the  first  two  without  having  paid  anybody 
anything.  Godfrey's  contract  with  Eckstein  stipulated 
that  the  payments  of  the  loan  should  be  made  when 
the  building  had  reached  certain  stages  of  completion, 
but  as  he  had  found  that  he  could  build  it  more  cheaply 
by  placing  the  different  contracts  in  as  many  hands 
as  possible,  instead  of  under  the  control  of  one  firm  who 
in  turn  would  sublet  much  of  it,  demands  were  soon 
made  on  him  by  the  smaller  contractors  who,  with  little 
capital,  could  not  wait  for  that  point  to  be  reached 
where  Goeifrey  could  get  money  himself.  In  conse- 
quence he  found  it  was  necessary  to  pay  out  between 
eight  and  ten  thousand  dollars  before  he  could  make  his 
first  application  to  Eckstein. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  261 

But  so  far  there  had  been  no  delays  in  the  progress 
of  the  work.  Goeffrey  watched  it  with  avidity  and 
seemed  to  see  in  it,  as  it  rose  slowly  into  the  air,  a 
symbol  of  his  own  fortunes  and  with  a  natural  opti- 
mism he  disregarded  the  complications  and  difficulties 
which  must  surely  arise  before  its  completion.  But 
there  was  one  thing  which  caused  him  anxiety  and  that 
was  Nina's  attitude  toward  him.  After  the  soft  and 
charming  days  following  their  reconciliation,  he  had 
begun  to  feel  that  his  position  with  her  was  not  quite 
secure.  She  was  kind,  gay,  sympathetic  and  even  af- 
fectionate at  times,  but  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  the 
feeling  that  he  was  on  trial;  that  she  always  had  her- 
self well  in  hand  and  that  his  ultimate  success  with  her, 
depended  on  the  result  of  the  business  he  was  engaged 
in.  It  may  be  that  it  was  only  afterwards,  when  look- 
ing at  it  in  the  light  of  subsequent  events,  that  Goef- 
frey saw  this,  because  he  was  very  happy ;  Nina  gave 
him  the  sympathy  and  encouragement  which  a  tempera- 
ment such  as  his  demanded  and  he  looked  forward  to 
his  visits  very  eagerly.  There  were  not  as  many  oppor- 
tunities to  have  her  to  himself  as  he  would  have  liked, 
something  always  seemed  to  be  going  on.  Mr.  Arthur 
Vernay,  who  had  a  place  near  by,  was  often  there  and 
other  people  whom  they  knew  and  who  made  up  a  little 
colony  in  the  neighborhood,  but  he  was  not  unreason- 
able about  it  and  a  whispered  word  at  bedtime,  a  clasp 
of  the  hand,  a  kiss,  or  a  confidential  chat,  would  send 
him  back  to  town  quite  happy. 

One  night  he  heard  a  light  step  on  the  stairs  and 


262  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Doris  had  come  to  see  him.  He  began  telling  her  at  once 
about  his  building. 

"  Shall  I  show  you  the  plans?  " 

"  No !  don't,  Goeff rey ;  I  wouldn't  understand  them. 
Where  are  the  cigarettes?  " 

She  took  one  and  lighted  it. 

"  And  about  the  other  thing, —  Miss  Davidge." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right  again,"  Goeffrey  answered.  "  She 
has  forgiven  me  and  everything  is  as  it  was  before. 
What  a  fool  I  was  to  do  what  I  did,  to  let  those  people, 
whom  I  hardly  expected  ever  to  see  again,  come  there 
that  night,  of  all  nights." 

"  Oh !  is  that  the  way  you  feel  about  it?  '*  Doris  an- 
swered. 

"  I  didn't  feel  that  way  about  you,"  said  Goeffrey. 
"  If  it  hadn't  been  that  I  wanted  to  see  you,  I  wouldn't 
have  let  them  come." 

"  And  you  are  going  to  make  a  lot  of  money  —  and 
so  quickly  —  it  is  very  clever  of  you,  Goeffrey." 

"  Well,"  said  Goeffrey,  rubbing  his  hands  together, 
"  of  course  I'm  not  out  of  the  woods  yet  —  but  if  I 
do  get  through  with  it,  I  think  I  will  have  done  pretty 
well  —  come  in  here  a  minute,"  he  added,  "  I  must  show 
it  to  you,"  and  he  led  the  way  into  his  draughting-room. 
"  This,"  he  said,  spreading  out  a  plan  of  one  of  the 
floors,  "  is  to  be  our  apartment,  the  drawing-room  is 
to  be  on  the  corner  with  windows  facing  south  and  east. 
It  is  quite  small,  because  we  have  decided  to  be  very 
economical,  but  we  have  arranged  everything  to  suit 
ourselves  and  while  there  are  not  many  of  them,  the 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  263 

rooms  themselves  are  large.  The  drawing-room  and 
the  dining-room  open  into  each  other  and  the  bed- 
rooms, there  are  only  two,  are  quite  at  the  other  end. 
We  wanted  to  have  a  guest-room,  but  we  couldn't 
squeeze  it  in  anyhow.  I  wish  we  could  though,  then  you 
could  come  and  visit  us." 

"  Oh !  thanks,"  answered  Doris  rather  shortly. 

As  she  was  leaving,  Goeffrey  said  to  her: 

"  When  are  you  coming  again?  " 

"  I  told  you,  don't  you  remember,  that  I  wouldn't 
come  after  you  and  Miss  Davidge  had  made  friends?  " 

Goeffrey  hesitated.  "  I  like  to  have  you  come,"  he 
said  at  length,  "  do  you  think  there's  any  harm  in  it?  " 

"  Do  you  really  like  me  to,  Goeffrey?  " 

"Really  and  truly,  please  come,  won't  you?" 

"  I  shan't  promise  —  perhaps." 

When  Goeffrey  had  purchased  Eckstein's  lot,  he  had 
in  the  bank  as  he  had  said,  twenty  thousand  dollars  — 
the  residue  of  the  balance  he  had  divided  with  Richard 
and  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  of  his  motor  and  a  few 
pieces  of  exceptionally  fine  furniture.  Five  thousand 
of  this  he  had  given  as  purchase  money  to  Eckstein  and 
nine  thousand  had  been  paid  out  to  his  various  contract- 
ors, in  order  to  carry  on  the  work  until  his  first  payment 
was  due.  At  last  the  time  arrived  when  he  could  make 
application  for  it  and  a  few  days  after  he  was  summoned 
to  Eckstein's  office  who  offered  him  a  cheque  for  some 
five  thousand  less  than  the  stipulated  sum.  Goeffrey, 
who  knew  that  it  would  take  every  penny  of  the  full 
amount,  and  that  even  then  he  would  have  to  induce 


264  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

his  contractors  to  accept  less  than  they  expected,  was 
staggered. 

"  Look  at  your  contract,"  said  Eckstein,  "  haven't 
you  read  it?  All  interest  charges  are  to  be  deducted 
from  your  payments." 

"  But  I  can't  get  along  on  that,"  Goeffrey  answered. 

"  You  can't  expect  to  do  the  thing  entirely  with  my 
money,"  Eckstein  returned,  a  statement  quite  in  con- 
tradiction to  some  of  his  earlier  arguments,  "  use  some 
of  your  own." 

"  I  have,"  said  Goeffrey,  "  nearly  ten  thousand 
dollars." 

"  You  have?  "  replied  Eckstein.  "  Well,  I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do,  I'll  give  you  the  full  amount  and  not  de- 
duct the  interest  due,  but  you'll  have  to  sign  a  paper 
that  I  am  not  abrogating  any  of  my  rights  by  doing 
so." 

Eckstein  drew  up  a  paper.  Its  purport  was  simply 
what  he  had  stated  it  would  be  and  Goeffrey  signed  it 
and  got  his  cheque.  He  banked  it  at  once,  and  dis- 
tributed it  proportionately  among  his  contractors. 
This  money  with  what  he  had  already  paid,  while  not 
meeting  in  full  the  applications  made  upon  him,  seemed 
to  satisfy  them  and  the  work  went  on ;  and  Goeffrey 
breathed  a  deep  sigh  of  relief.  But  now  new  difficulties 
presented  themselves.  Dealing  with  the  different  trades 
individually  and  directly,  instead  of  through  one  con- 
tractor, responsibility  was  divided.  Attempts  were 
continually  made  to  shirk  it  and  to  shift  it  to  others. 
Where  the  slightest  ambiguity  was  discovered  in  the 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  265 

specifications,  advantage  was  taken  of  it  and  demands 
made  for  more  money,  on  the  ground  that  owing  to 
lack  of  lucidity,  more  was  being  called  for  than  they 
had  estimated  on.  At  times  work  of  various  kinds  was 
stopped  until  these  demands  were  accepted  in  writing. 
Mistakes  were  made  and  not  rectified,  unless  the  most 
vigorous  protestations  were  made  and  even  then  after 
vexatious  delays.  Goeffrey  found  that  in  many  cases 
constant  and  rigid  inspection  was  necessary.  His  as- 
sistant Stackpool  was  invaluable,  and  he  admitted  to 
himself  that  without  him  he  would  have  been  helpless. 
Quarrels  and  bickerings  arose  among  the  smaller  con- 
tractors, arguments  as  to  where  one's  task  ended  and  an- 
other's began.  Often  delay  on  one  kind  of  work  would 
retard  and  at  times  totally  stop  progress  on  other  kinds. 
And  without  ceasing,  Goeffrey  was  striving  to  make 
things  run  smoothly  —  make  things  fit  —  to  grow  to- 
gether —  drawings  were  turned  out  constantly,  each 
thing  required  in  the  construction  was  interdependent  on 
some  other  thing.  And  the  main  point  was  haste. 
Stackpool  pointed  out  the  vital  importance  of  having  the 
apartments  ready  for  rental  by  early  autumn,  other- 
wise, the  building  would  stand  empty  for  the  winter 
which  would  prove  fatal  to  the  success  of  the  project. 
And  so  Goeffrey  worked,  worked  night  and  day.  He 
began  to  get  thin,  forgot  his  barber,  often  went  with- 
out shaving  —  his  clothes  were  wrinkled  and  filled  with 
the  dust  of  the  building,  he  slept  badly,  he  had  taken 
up  the  struggle  —  he  had  become  one  of  the  horde. 
One  morning  on  getting  there,  he  found  the  building 


266  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

deserted  and  was  told  that  a  labor  delegate  had  dis- 
covered that  one  of  the  contractors  had  been  employing 
non-union  workmen.  Every  man  in  the  building  had 
been  ordered  out  of  it  and  two  weeks  passed  in  negoti- 
ations and  threats  before  the  unions  permitted  work  to 
be  resumed. 

And  summer  had  come  with  its  heat,  its  melting  days 
of  blazing  sunshine,  its  breathless  nights.  He  heard 
everywhere  the  clanging  of  iron,  the  rattle  of  riveting 
machines,  saw  man's  struggle  with  the  enormous  inertia 
of  matter,  carried  on  it  seemed  more  fiercely  under  the 
tropic  heat  than  at  other  times,  saw  here  another  world, 
a  world  ignorant  of  ideals,  of  beauty,  of  grace,  of  any- 
thing except  of  matter;  of  lifting  it,  fashioning  it, 
shaping  it,  fabricating  it,  fitting  it  into  buildings,  pil- 
ing it  story  on  story.  A  world  of  straining  effort,  of 
dust,  dirt,  terrific  sounds,  sweat  and  exhaustion. 

One  night  after  lying  for  hours  in  the  lifeless  air  of 
his  room,  he  fell  into  a  fitful  sleep  and  his  old  dream 
came  back  to  him.  He  thought  that  he  was  a  little  boy 
again  and  that  his  mother  came  and  sat  beside  him  and 
climbing  up  to  her,  they  clung  together,  oh  so  closely, 
and  that  after  that  dear  embrace  she  had  put  him  in  his 
bed  again  and  had  gone  away,  calling  to  him  softly  from 
afar,  Good-by ! 

Goeffrey  changed  a  little  after  that  night.  It 
seemed  as  if  his  dream  had  been  the  means  of  opening 
the  door  of  a  chamber  in  which  his  past  had  been  locked 
away.  He  began  to  think  of  it,  the  days  of  his  youth 
abroad,  of  Italy,  of  many  things  he  had  forgotten,  and 
with  these  thoughts,  there  grew  slowly  a  distaste  for 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  2671 

what  he  was  engaged  in,  and  in  the  evening  after  a 
day  of  struggle,  of  fatigue,  he  would  find  himself  dream- 
ing of  the  sea,  the  olive  groves,  the  little  pavilion  from 
which  he  used  to  watch  the  mountains  from  afar.  But 
still  he  struggled  on.  The  point  was  reached  where  his 
second  payment  was  due  and  Eckstein  gave  it  to  him, 
again  waiving  his  right  to  deduct  interest,  but  when  as 
he  had  done  before,  he  divided  it  proportionately,  a 
storm  of  protest  arose,  threats  of  liens  were  made  and 
in  order  to  prevent  work  from  being  stopped,  he  found 
it  necessary  to  add  five  thousand  dollars  of  his  own 
money  and  the  work  continued,  but  not  as  energetically 
as  before.  He  had  now  a  thousand  dollars  to  his  credit 
at  his  bank. 

At  the  end  of  that  week  while  at  Lowlands,  Nina  had 
said  to  him: 

"  Aren't  things  going  well,  Goeff rey  ?  you  look 
worried." 

"  Pretty   well,"   he    answered. 

"  No,  you  must  tell  me.  They  are  not  going  well  — 
I  know  it." 

"  Not  very  well,  dear,"  he  said.  "  But  why  bother 
you  about  it,  I've  got  to  work  it  out  myself.  No  one 
can  help  me." 

"  But  I  want  to  know.  You  ought  to  tell  me.  Who 
should  know  about  it,  if  not  I?  " 

So  Goeffrey  told  her.  He  began  at  first  with  a  gen- 
eral outline  of  the  situation,  omitting  the  more  dis- 
couraging details,  hoping  to  satisfy  her  curiosity,  but 
her  shrewd  questions,  revealing  a  surprisingly  practical 
business  instinct,  soon  drew  from  him  the  true  state  of 


£68  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

affairs.  That  his  own  money  was  gone,  and  that  his 
only  chance  of  success  lay  in  inducing  the  contractors 
to  complete  their  work  on  the  insufficient  payments  still 
to  become  due  from  Eckstein. 

When  he  had  finished,  she  sat  quite  still  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  with  a  flush  of  anger  and  contempt, 
she  said: 

"  Well,  really,  Goeffrey,  I  don't  see  how  you  could 
possibly  have  mismanaged  it  more  beautifully  than  you 
have." 

Her  tone  was  so  bitter,  so  full  of  reproach,  that  Goef- 
frey was  staggered. 

"  But  how  could  I  have  done  differently,"  he  an- 
swered in  despair,  "  once  I  had  gone  into  it?  " 

"  Differently !  surely  now  that  you  have  put  all  of 
your  own  money  into  it,  you  can  see  that  he  will  take  it 
away  from  you."  She  made  an  impatient  gesture. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  " 

"  Try  to  go  ahead." 

"  You  talk  like  a  child.  You  can't  do  anything  with- 
out more  money.  Can't  you  see  that?" 

"  I  haven't  any  money,  and  I  can't  get  it,"  he  an- 
swered. 

She  jumped  up  from  her  chair,  "  Good-night,"  she 
said  abruptly. 

"  Nina !  please,"  he  exclaimed,  starting  after  her. 

"  I  can't  talk  to  you,"  she  answered.  "  You  have 
disappointed  me  too  much." 

He  did  not  see  her  again  that  night  and  went  back  to 
town  early  the  next  morning  more  miserable  than  ever. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

GOEFFREY  did  not  go  to  Lowlands  on  the  following 
week.  Nina  had  written  him  that  she  was  not  well, 
and  had  asked  him  to  postpone  his  visit.  On  the  week 
after,!  he  found  that  there  were  so  many  things  demand- 
ing his  attention,  that  he  wrote  in  turn  putting  it  off 
again.  He  received  no  reply  to  his  note. 

The  demands  for  money  had  become  more  and  more 
insistent,  but  he  struggled  desperately,  trying  to  keep 
the  work  from  coming  to  a  standstill  before  the  next 
payment  fell  due1  from  Eckstein,  expending  in  this  way, 
in  small  sums,  here  and  there,  the  remaining  money  he 
had  on  hand.  During  the  third  week  after  his  talk  with 
Nina,  he  succeeded  in  reaching  the  desired  point  and 
went  to  see  Eckstein.  Upon  hearing  his  demand,  the 
Jew  took  out  some  papers,  busied  himself  with  his  pencil 
and  at  last  looked  up. 

"  You  will  remember,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  never, 
since  you  started,  deducted  any  interest  charges  from 
your  payments,  as  I  had  a  right  to  do  under  our  con- 
tract." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Goeffrey,  "  I  remember." 

"  I  did  this  at  your  request  and  because  I  wanted 
to  help  you  all  I  could,  but  at  the  same  time  in  order 
to  protect  myself,  I  asked  you  to  sign  a  paper  stipulat- 
ing that  it  would  not  jeopardize  my  rights  in  any  way 

969 


270  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

and  that  the  deductions  might  be  made  at  any  future 
time  I  should  see  fit.  Do  you  remember  that?  " 

"  I  remember  signing  something  like  that  —  but  — " 

"Do  you  remember  it  or  don't  you?"  the  Jew  an- 
swered roughly. 

"  Yes,"  Goeff rey  answered. 

"  I  have  been  figuring  it  up,"  Eckstein  went  on,  "  and 
I  find  that  the  accumulated  charges  against  you  amount 
to  fifteen  hundred  dollars  more  than  the  payment  which 
you  now;  claim  is  due." 

"  I  haven't  figured  it  up,"  answered  Goeff  rey,  "  but 
admitting  that  you  are  right  —  what  then?" 

"  I  must  not  only  refuse  to  make  this  payment,  but 
must  also  demand  from  you  the  additional  fifteen  hun- 
dred which  is  due  me." 

"  You  refuse  to  make  this  payment  ?  "  asked  Goeff  rey 
slowly. 

"  Yes,  I  refuse." 

"You  know  what  the  result  will  be?" 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  Eckstein  replied,  "  I'm  not  in 
this  for  my  health  —  I  am  in  it  to  make  money.  I 
didn't  go  into  it  as  a  philanthropist.  I  made  a  con- 
tract with  you  and  I  have  carried  out  my  part  to  the 
letter  —  if  you  can't  live  up  to  yours,  I  must  protect 
myself." 

"  You  understand  I  suppose  that  work  will  be 
stopped." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  answered  Eckstein. 

"  Is  that  your  last  word,"  asked  Goeffrey,  "  you  in- 
tend to  pay  me  no  more  money  ?  " 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  271 

"  I  will  pay  you  all  the  money  our  contract  stipulates 
when  you  have  lived  up  to  it,"  Eckstein  answered ;  then 
he  said,  "  Why  don't  you  borrow  enough  to  see  you 
through?" 

Goeffrey  got  up  and  went  out  without  answering 
him.  He  felt  that  Eckstein  had  brought  about  this 
crisis  in  his  affairs  deliberately,  but  until  later  he  did 
not  understand  that  it  was  done  so  that  Eckstein  would 
obtain  a  half  finished  building  for  half  its  value  and  com- 
plete it  himself.  Eckstein  would  foreclose,  buy  in  his 
property  at  the  amount  of  his  own  incumbrance  on  it, 
or  if  for  less  secure  a  judgment  against  Goeffrey  for  the 
difference.  In  either  case,  all  of  the  contractors  would 
lose  everything,  less  the  insufficient  payments  with  which 
Goeffrey  had  induced  them  to  go  on.  Goeffrey  didn't 
feel  particularly  sorry  for  them,  they  had  cheated  him 
when  they  could,  nor  was  he  sorry  for  himself,  but  he 
was  for  Eckstein,  it  seemed  such  a  sordid  game.  Any 
man  dirty  and  mean  enough  to  go  into  it  seemed  to  him 
to  deserve  pity. 

He  knew  that  there  would  be  numerous  callers  at  his 
office,  all  with  the  same  object,  and  he  did  not  feel 
equal  to  going  through  with  the  difficult  and  humiliat- 
ing task  of  telling  them  that  he  hadn't  any  money,  nor 
that  he  was  likely  to  have.  He  spent  the  whole  after- 
noon in  his  club,  dined  there  and  went  back  to  his  rooms 
about  nine.  He  lighted  his  lamp  and  turned  to  his 
desk.  A  letter  addressed  in  Nina's  handwriting  lay 
on  it. 

Doris  came  up  the  stairs  to  Goeffrey's  sitting-room 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

an  hour  later.  As  was  her  wont,  she  tapped  twice, 
waited,  tapped  again  and  then  as  there  was  no  answer, 
she  opened  the  door  and  went  in.  Goeffrey  sat  in  a 
mood  of  such  deep  abstraction,  that  he  did  not  hear  her 
and  she  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment  looking  at  him. 
She  noticed  for  the  first  time  how  he  had  changed,  how 
thin  he  had  grown,  the  lines  in  his  face,  the  disorder  of 
his  clothing,  his  dusty  boots ;  and  her  heart  smote  her 
with  an  almost  uncontrollable  emotion  of  love  and  pity. 
Poor  Goeffrey  —  he  had  been  in  the  battle,  he  had  be- 
come one  of  the  horde,  but  he  was  not  strong  enough, 
she  knew  that,  and  with  her  whole  strength  she  longed 
to  fight  for  him,  to  receive  the  blows  aimed  at  him  even 
to  death. 

She  shut  the  door  with  sufficient  force  to  attract  his 
attention,  and  went  over  to  him. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  knocked  and  you  didn't 
hear  me,  so  I  came  in,"  and  then  as  he  did  not  answer 
her,  only  looking  at  her  in  a  sort  of  dumb  and  appeal- 
ing way,  she  repeated,  "  What  is  it,  Goeffrey  ?  "  And 
leaning  forward  she  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  It's  over,"  he  answered  thickly  J 

"  What  is  over  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Everything." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  building ;  has  anything  happened 
to  it?" 

"  Yes,  they  have  stopped  work  on  it,  I  am  —  and  then 
—  well — "  Suddenly  he  picked  up  a  letter  from  the 
table  and  handed  it  to  her,  "  everything  is  over." 

Doris  read  the  letter. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  273 

"  Dear  Goeffrey  —  It  will  give  me  great,  great  pain 
to  write  this,  but  I  know  it  is  necessary  and  so  I  must, 
even  if  it  should  cause  you  to  be  very  unhappy  and  to 
harbor  toward  me  feelings  of  resentment.  I  do  not 
believe  that  it  will  ever  be  possible  for  us  to  marry, 
and  if  you  will  look  at  it  calmly,  I  think  you  will  agree 
with  me.  Do  you  remember  once  last  winter  asking  me 
whether  I  thought  it  true  that  money  was  the  most 
essential  thing  in  life?  I  mean  a  great  deal  of  money, 
and  my  saying  yes?  And  I  do  think  so,  Goeffrey  — 
blame  me  as  you  will,  think  as  hardly  of  me  as  you  will, 
I  cannot  bring  myself  to  face  the  prospect  of  living 
without  it  even  with  you  and  so  I  must  ask  you  to  con- 
sider our  engagement  at  an  end.  Forgive  me,  Goeffrey 
dear,  you  cannot  guess  how  hard  it  is  for  me  to  write 
this  —  but  it  must  be  —  and  so  good-by  —  again  for- 
give me  —  and  good-by." 

A  blaze  of  hatred  flashed  in  Doris's  face,  but  she  saw; 
his  eyes  still  fixed  on  her  with  that  dumb  appealing  look, 
and  getting  up,  she  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it,  as 
she  had  done  once  before. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  dear,"  she  said,  and  she  blushed, 
blushed  at  that  kiss,  at  that  tender  word,  but  he  seemed 
not  to  notice  them. 

"  She  is  right,"  he  said  at  last. 

Doris's  hatred  blazed  up  again.  "How  right?"  she 
asked. 

"  Don't  you  see  •• —  it's  the  way  she  was  brought  up 
— to  have  everything?  She  knows  that  I  couldn't  give 
her  what  she  has  been  used  to  and  that  it  would  make 


274  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

me  miserable  not  to  be  able  to  — "  he  stopped  and  Doris 
realized  by  his  manner,  his  strained  way  of  speaking 
and  a  certain  muscular  twitching  of  his  hands,  that  his 
nerves,  long  under  a  tense  and  unaccustomed  strain, 
were  almost  at  breaking  point. 

"  But  if  I  could  only  have  finished  the  building,"  he 
went  on,  "  it  would  have  been  all  right.  It  seems  as 
if  some  evil  fate  was  pursuing  me.  I  knew  how  much 
depended  on  it  —  my  whole  future,  and  if  ever  a  man 
worked  I  did  —  night  and  day  —  because  I  was  work- 
ing for  her  and  for  my  own  happiness  —  and  I  failed." 

"  Yes,"  said  Doris,  "  and  that's  all  she  sees  —  your 
failure  —  all  the  efforts  you  have  made  don't  matter  to 
her  —  all  your  labor  —  that  doesn't  count  —  if  you 
could  have  given  her  what  she  wanted  —  very  well  —  if 
not,  she  is  done  with  you.  Does  she  think  of  you  ?  No, 
only  of  herself." 

"  I  will  never  believe  that,"  Goeffrey  answered. 

"  But  she  admits  it  —  she  has  the  grace  to  do  that 
i —  you  can't  give  her  money  so  she  will  find  someone 
who  will.  It's  all  one  to  her." 

Goeffrey  got  up  and  going  over  to  his  desk  sat  down 
before  it  and  began  putting  together  the  papers  with 
which  its  top  was  strewn. 

"  I  shall  not  discuss  it  with  you,"  he  said  coldly,  with- 
out looking  at  her. 

Neither  spoke  for  a  time  and  then  Doris  got  up. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Goeffrey,  I've  offended  you,  I'm  sorry." 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said,  "  it  doesn't  matter.  Noth- 
ing matters  very  much  now,"  and  he  turned  again  to 
his  desk. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  275 

Doris  looked  at  him  with  a  gaze  full  of  devotion. 
She  longed  to  say  to  him,  "  Let  me  show  you  what  love 
is,  you  think  that  she  knows  —  let  me  show  you  how 
/  can  love,  how  with  every  atom  of  my  mind  and  body  I 
can  devote  myself  to  you.  I  shall  not  demand  great 
things  of  you,  I  will  do  great  things  and  ask  for  nothing 
except  yourself." 

"  Good-night,  Goeffrey,"  she  said. 

"  Good-night,"  he  answered.  He  did  not  turn  toward 
her  and  she  went  out. 

This  was  what  she  had  foreseen  and  what  she  had 
hoped  for,  a  break  between  Goeffrey  and  her  rival. 
She  had  kept  the  letter  believing  that  what  had,  would 
take  place  and  saying  always  to  herself,  that  after- 
wards, "  Perhaps,  perhaps !  "  She  never  analyzed  that 
word,  because,  half  unconsciously,  she  felt  that  she 
would  find  herself  face  to  face  with  a  hope  which  she 
knew  that  she  could  never  realize.  The  hope  of  escap- 
ing the  consequences  of  her  past,  of  becoming  some- 
thing different,  something  new,  with  which  her  old  life 
had  no  connection ;  but  she  realized  now  that  she  could 
not  do  this,  that  not  to  give  Goeffrey  his  letter  was  im- 
possible, that  he  must  have  it  and  at  once.  A  feeling 
of  despair  seized  her.  She  experienced  a  keen  forebod- 
ing that  it  would  be  the  means  of  separating  her  from 
Goeffrey  forever,  and  she  clung  to  him.  He  stood  for 
not  only  what  he  was  himself  to  her,  but  for  all  that  she 
wanted,  longed  for  in  life.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  in 
a  room  without  light  through  whose  open  door  she  could 
see  a  place  of  brightness  and  beauty  and  that  she  must 
close  that  door  forever  and  leave  herself  in  darkness. 


276  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

She  had  turned  toward  Fifth  Avenue  and  as  she 
reached  it,  walked  up  it  mechanically.  It  was  almost 
deserted  —  the  mellow  sounds  of  a  summer  evening 
came  to  her.  She  walked  on  and  on  —  suddenly  she 
turned  back  again.  She  had  said  to  herself  that  she 
would  go  to  him  and  tell  him  everything  —  that  she  had 
kept  his  letter,  but  that  she  loved  him  —  beg  him  to  for- 
give her,  beg  him  on  her  knees  to  take  her,  to  let  her  be 
always  near  him  —  and  then  realizing  the  futility  of 
such  a  course,  she  again  turned  and  went  north. 

She  reached  the  park,  and  entering  began  waging 
through  its  leafy  paths.  A  soft  wind  rose  with  a  mur- 
mur and  died  again.  Lamps  shone  through  the 
branches  of  the  trees.  On  the  benches  in  the  deep 
shadows,  she  discerned  vague  forms.  Subdued  voices 
were  audible  to  her,  issuing  from  the  darkness.  She 
heard  laughter,  and,  it  seemed  to  her,  the  faint  sound 
of  sighs  and  kisses.  In  this  warmth,  in  the  velvet  soft- 
ness of  night,  it  seemed  as  if  nature  and  man  had 
given  themselves  up  to  the  lassitude  of  love  —  and 
again  that  wish  to  go  back  to  him  possessed  her. 

Seeing  an  unoccupied  bench,  she  sat  down.  She 
must  think  well  what  to  do.  To  send  Goeffrey  his  let- 
ter meant  too  that  she  would  rouse  Pandolfi's  uncon- 
trollable anger.  On  the  one  hand,  if  she  kept  it,  things 
would  remain  as  they  were.  On  the  other —  She  got 
up  again  and  started  walking  rapidly  —  she  knew  that 
Pandolfi  might  be  capable  of  almost  any  violence  and 
although  she  took  this  into  consideration,  her  fearless 
and  resolute  nature  once  she  decided  what  to  do,  would 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  277 

not  allow  the  thought  of  his  possible  brutality  to  in- 
timidate her.  There  was  only  one  course  possible  to 
her  —  to  return  it.  She  had  closed  the  door  through 
which  for  a  time  she  had  allowed  herself  to  see  a  bright 
and  alluring  prospect.  Bright  but  vain  —  alluring  but 
hopeless. 

At  least  she  would  be  honest.  She  must  begin  now 
to  make  herself,  in  so  far  as  she  could,  worthy  of  the 
man  she  loved,  even  if  by  doing  so,  she  lost  him.  Her 
action  would  end  her  life  with  Pandolfi  and  for  that  she 
was  glad,  even  though  the  future  seemed  to  hold  for 
her  nothing  but  poverty  and  privation. 

It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock  when  she  reached  her 
house.  She  let  herself  in  and  went  upstairs  to  the  draw- 
ing-room. She  had  forgotten  for  a  moment  where  the 
switch  was  placed  by  which  the  lights  were  turned  on, 
and  as  she  stood  there  in  the  darkness,  she  felt  that 
intangible  something  about  her,  which  one  feels  in  no 
place  except  in  that  which  is  one's  own,  the  atmos- 
phere of  home,  and  it  wrung  her  heart. 

Going  to  her  bedroom  which  was  at  the  rear  of  the 
house  on  the  drawing-room  floor,  she  took  the  letter 
from  its  hiding-place,  laboriously  printed  Goeffrey's  ad- 
dress on  an  envelope,  the  more  effectually  to  conceal  the 
identity  of  the  sender,  enclosed  the  letter  in  it,  took  it 
out,  posted  it  and  came  back  to  wait  for  Pandolfi. 

To  wait  for  Pandolfi  and  what  besides?  —  Another 
thing  might  be  coming  to  her  too  —  striding  silently 
by  Ernesto's  side.  She  had  thought  for  a  moment  of 
leaving  him  a  note  explaining  what  she  had  done,  but 


278  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

she  had  put  the  idea  aside  at  once  —  she  was  no 
coward.  She  had  told  him  she  would  tell  him,  and  she 
would  do  so  face  to  face. 

Going  to  her  desk,  she  picked  up  a  little  antique  silver 
box  which  she  had  once  admired  at  Goeffrey's  and  which 
he  had  insisted  on  her  taking,  kissed  it,  and  put  it  in 
her  purse.  And  opening  one  of  the  drawers,  she  took 
out  some  bills  and  counted  them  —  nearly  a  hundred 
dollars.  Should  she  take  them?  —  she  must,  what 
could  she  do  without  a  little  money  at  least.  She 
imagined  herself  alone,  in  the  streets,  penniless,  at  night. 
And  as  she  thought  suddenly  of  the  possible  conse- 
quences of  her  act,  terror  seized  her  for  a  moment  and 
threatened  to  break  that  grip  of  self-control  with  which 
she  was  holding  herself. 

She  put  the  money  in  her  purse  and  at  that  moment 
she  heard  the  outer  door  shut  and  Pandolfi's  step  on  the 
stairs.  A  deadly  terror  seized  her.  He  came  into  the 
room,  wiping  his  face  with  his  handkerchief.  He  wore 
an  evening  jacket,  a  soft  pleated  shirt,  a  black  tie  and 
carried  in  his  hand  a  panama  hat  which  he  tossed  to  the 
seat  of  a  chair. 

"  I've  been  to  see  Irma  in  the  *  Blackbird,'  "  he  said, 
going  quickly  to  a  small  table  and  pouring  out  a  glass 
of  water  in  which  some  sliced  limes  were  soaking,  a  drink 
of  which  he  was  very  fond  —  "  but  it's  beyond  her  — 
she's  handsome  enough,  but  she  can't  act.  I've  always 
said  that." 

He  sat  down  and  lighted  a  cigarette  and  then  as  he 
noticed  her  pallor,  and  that  she  was  standing,  look- 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  279 

ing  at  him  fixedly  with  her  hat  on,  he  said  in  sur- 
prise: 

"What's  the  matter?" 

;<  You  remember  the  letter  you  wanted  me  to  give 
you?  "  she  said,  fighting  against  her  overwhelming  ter- 
ror of  him,  "  the  one  which  belongs  to  Goeffrey?  " 

"  Yes,  what  of  it?  " 

"  I  have  sent  it  to  him." 

Pandolfi  put  his  hand  to  his  head  as  if  he  had  re- 
ceived a  blow,  his  face  became  bloodless  and  he  seemed 
to  collapse  in  his  chair.  The  effect  of  her  words  on 
him  was  so  terrific,  that  it  startled  her,  but  it  relieved 
her  too,  because  she  thought  for  an  instant  that  it  might 
mitigate  his  first  burst  of  rage ;  but  in  a  moment  he  was 
on  his  feet ;  a  chair  stood  in  his  way  and  as  he  made  its 
circuit,  Doris  leaped  to  a  table  standing  so  that  it  was 
between  them,  and  seizing  a  long  and  sharp  stiletto, 
which  Pandolfi  had  given  her  long  before  and  which  she 
used  as  a  paper  knife,  she  said  with  a  sort  of  cold  and 
despairing  fury: 

"  Listen,  Ernesto,  if  you  try  to  touch  me,  if  you  come 
one  step  nearer,  I  swear  that  I  shall  kill  myself  —  I 
swear  it." 

Pandolfi  stopped;  something  convinced  him  that  she 
meant  fully  what  she  said,  that  she  didn't  care,  that 
life  meant  nothing  to  her.  At  that  moment,  if  he  had 
had  her  in  his  grasp,  the  probability  is  that  his  own 
violence  would  have  excited  him  to  murder,  but  to  be 
placed  in  a  position  where  a  step  on  his  part  might 
result  in  her  death,  by  her  own  hand,  brought  an  ele- 


280  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

ment  of  deliberation  into  the  situation  which  checked 
him  sharply.  At  the  same  time  this  restraint  on  his 
desire  to  do  her  physical  injury,  heightened  if  possible 
his  rage  and  resentment.  He  poured  out  a  torrent 
of  abuse,  vituperation,  curses,  insults. 

"  Get  out,"  he  said,  "  into  the  street  where  you  be- 
long —  I  took  you  from  there,  go  back  again  —  do 
you  hear,  get  out!  No,  wait,  I'll  show  you  some- 
thing." He  rushed  into  her  bedroom  —  she  was  afraid 
to  leave  the  protecting  rampart  of  the  table,  but  from 
where  she  stood  she  could  see  him.  He  began  the  fe- 
rocious destruction  of  every  object  which  through  use 
or  association  she  might  feel  a  personal  interest  in. 
The  things  on  her  bureau,  pictures,  lamps.  Her  hats 
he  pulled  to  pieces.  Suddenly  he  appeared  in  the 
drawing-room,  his  arms  piled  with  her  gowns,  and  be- 
gan to  rend  them,  all  the  time  heaping  her  with  abuse 
and  recrimination.  This  work  of  destruction  finished, 
he  saw  her  purse. 

"  Give  it  to  me !  "  he  shouted. 

She  threw  it  to  him  and,  opening  it,  he  tore  the 
bills  in  pieces,  ground  the  little  box  under  foot,  and 
bursting  its  metal  chain  work,  tossed  it  aside. 

"  Your  rings !  " 

She  took  them  off  and  put  them  on  the  table. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  go !  get  out !  " 

Doris,  without  a  word,  still  grasping  the  stiletto, 
went  slowly  and  unsteadily  down  the  stairs  and  into 
the  street. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

GOEFFREY  found  in  his  box  the  next  morning,  a  letter 
addressed  to  him  in  awkwardly  printed  characters.  On 
opening  the  envelope,  he  found  another  within  it, 
crumpled  and  soiled,  on  which  his  name  was  written 
in  the  unmistakable  handwriting  of  Mr.  Davidge.  He 
felt  sure  from  the  momentary  glimpse  he  had  had  of 
it,  when  Nina  had  placed  it  on  the  table  on  the  night 
of  the  party,  that  it  was  the  missing  letter  and  he 
opened  it  eagerly.  Within  was  another  envelope  still 
in  Davidge's  hand,  addressed  to  Francis  Storey,  Esq. 

Deeply  disappointed  and  yet  encouraged,  too,  by  the 
thought  that  Davidge's  purpose  might  have  been  to 
enlist  Storey's  help  in  a  matter  where  Goeffrey  him- 
self would  have  been  helpless,  he  determined  to  deliver 
it  at  once.  He  looked  at  his  watch.  Storey  lived 
not  far  away  and  might  not  yet  have  gone  downtown. 

The  servant  took  his  card,  saying  that  he  was  afraid 
that  Mr.  Storey  was  not  at  home,  but  returned  almost 
at  once  and  led  Goeffrey  to  a  large  room  on  the  second 
floor  running  the  entire  width  of  the  house.  It  was 
a  lofty  room,  and  as  he  went  in  he  was  aware  of  superb 
tapestries  hanging  against  its  paneled  walls,  and  the 
glow  of  numerous  porcelains  arranged  in  cabinets  and 
on  consoles  —  a  portion,  no  doubt,  of  Storey's  incom- 
parable collection. 

281 


282  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Storey  was  standing  at  one  end  of  the  room.  The 
furniture  had  been  pushed  back  and  he  was  looking  at 
a  rug  which  was  spread  on  the  floor  —  a  beautiful  rose- 
colored  Ispahan  carpet  of  the  XVI  century,  ten  yards 
long. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  Goeff rey  ?  "  Storey  asked 
as  he  came  in. 

Goeffrey  looked  at  the  delicate  beauty  of  its  worn 
and  faded  surface,  at  the  extraordinary  grace  and  dis- 
tinction of  its  arabesques,  and  a  feeling  of  exaltation 
rose  in  him  —  a  sense  of  extreme  happiness.  He  said 
nothing,  but  he  looked  at  Storey  and  smiled  and  Storey 
understood. 

"You  have  fallen  in  love  with  it,"  he  said,  "you 
are  enamored  of  it,  you  have  the  spirit  of  the  true  col- 
lector. Ten  years  ago  I  saw  this  rug  in  England  and 
from  that  day  I  determined  that  sometime  I  would  be- 
come its  owner.  I  have  dreamed  of  having  it  as  I 
might  dream  of  possessing  a  woman  —  and  now  it  is 
mine.  Only  the  collector  is  different  from  the  lover 
of  women,  because  he  has  many  loves  and  can  be  faith- 
ful to  them  all." 

"  And  they  to  him,"  answered  GoefFrey.  "  There 
are  worse  things  than  being  a  collector.  I  have  been 
one,  as  much  as  my  means  would  allow,  and  whenever 
I  come  back  to  my  pieces,  I  find  them  always  the  same, 
always  waiting  for  me,  beautiful,  graceful,  and  mysteri- 
ous. Like  women,  but  constant." 

"And  are  there  not  women  who  are  constant ?" 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  Goeffrey,  "  superlative  ones." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  283 

w  Find  a  superlative  one,  then,"  Storey  said,  "  that 
is  what  you  look  for  in  art.  Find  it  in  a  woman  and 
you  will  not  complain." 

"  But  every  man  finds  a  superlative  one,  or  thinks 
he  does;  how  is  he  to  know  for  certain?  " 

"  Think  a  thing  sincerely  enough  and  you  will  make 
a  fact  of  it  so  far  as  you  are  concerned.  Is  there 
any  logic  by  which  I  can  prove  that  this  rug  is  beauti- 
ful? But  are  you  in  search  of  the  superlative  woman? 
The  last  time  I  saw  you,  you  were  about  to  engage  in 
business.  Don't  try  to  carry  on  the  two  occupations 
at  once,  my  boy;  one  of  them  is  bound  to  suffer." 

"  I'm  not  engaged  in  either,  just  at  present,"  Goef- 
frey  answered. 

Storey's  piercing  eyes,  for  the  first  time,  took  Goef- 
frey  in  from  head  to  foot  with  a  quick  glance  of  per- 
sonal scrutiny. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question 
or  two." 

And  under  his  questioning,  Goeffrey  told  his  story, 
the  story  of  his  building  speculation  and  its  disastrous 
result.  Pride  kept  him  from  revealing,  however,  how 
penniless  it  had  really  left  him.  When  he  had  fin- 
ished, Storey  regarded  him  with  a  look  of  commisera- 
tion. 

"  You  had  no  chance,"  he  said ;  "  your  Jewish  friend 
never  intended  that  you  should  have.  Did  you  ask 
no  one's  advice  before  going  into  it?" 

"  I  asked  Bruce,  my  lawyer,  and  he  told  me  not  to, 
but  I  didn't  want  that  kind  of  advice,"  answered  Goef- 


284?  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

frey.  "  I  wanted  to  do  it  and  so  I  went  ahead.  You 
see  if  I  had  succeeded,  I  would  have  had  a  very  nice 
little  income." 

"  Truly,  a  European  education  doesn't  fit  one  to  cope 
with  American  business  methods,"  Storey  said  with  a 
gleam  of  amusement  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  a  question  of  education,"  replied 
Goeffrey,  "  but  of  character.  One  can't  generalize  like 
that.  Take  Richard  and  myself.  We  were  brought 
up  in  almost  the  same  way.  He  can't  earn  anything 
but  I  am  not  prepared  to  admit  that  I  can't  —  not  yet, 
anyway." 

"  Your  illustration  is  a  good  one,"  Storey  answered 
with  a  touch  of  sarcasm,  "  but  I  would  reverse  the  ap- 
plication of  it  if  I  were  you;  your  cousin  seems  to  be 
quite  able  to  take  care  of  himself.  And  what  will  you 
do  now?  "  he  continued,  after  a  moment. 

"  I'm  a  pretty  good  draughtsman,"  Goeffrey  an- 
swered, "  and  I  shall  get  a  position  with  someone. 
Later  if  I  can  get  a  commission  or  two,  I  shall  start 
in  for  myself  again." 

"But  you  are  too  much  in  debt,  you  could  never 
start  again  unless  you  paid  your  creditors.  Is  there 
no  way  of  doing  it?  " 

"  That  brings  me  to  what  I  came  to  see  you  about," 
said  Goeffrey,  taking  the  letter  out  of  his  pocket. 
"  When  Mr.  Davidge  failed,  he  left  a  letter  with  his 
sister  saying  that  it  was  most  important  that  I  should 
get  it  at  once.  It  was  brought  to  me  that  night  but 
there  were  a  lot  of  people  there  and  when  they  had  gone, 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  285 

I  couldn't  find  it  anywhere.  This  morning  I  got  an 
envelope  with  my  address  printed  on  it  and  opening 
it,  I  found  what  I  am  sure  was  the  letter  which  was 
brought  to  my  rooms  that  night.  I  opened  it  and  in 
it  was  another  envelope  addressed  to  you.  That's  why 
I  came  here  this  morning." 

Storey  took  it,  opened  the  envelope  and  began  to 
read.  There  were  a  dozen  closely  written  pages.  He 
read  it  through  very  carefully  and  deliberately  and 
then  re-read  it. 

"  You  say,"  he  said  at  last,  "  that  there  were  a  num- 
ber of  people  in  your  rooms  the  night  this  letter  dis- 
appeared? Have  you  any  reason  for  thinking  that 
one  of  them  might  have  stolen  it?  " 

"  I  have  always  suspected  one  person,"  Goeffrey  an- 
swered. 

"Whom?  "  asked  Storey. 

"Pandolfi." 

Storey  got  up,  putting  the  letter  in  his  pocket. 

"  Your  father,  Davidge  and  I  were  friends  from 
boyhood,"  he  said,  "  and  on  the  ground  of  that  friend- 
ship, Davidge  asks  me  to  do  a  certain  thing.  It  is 
a  singular  request  and  whether  I  can  do  as  he  asks, 
I  am  not  sure.  If  I  do,  it  will  be  for  the  sake  of  your 
father  and  your  father's  son,  not  for  his  — "  some- 
one knocked,  a  door  opened  and  Storey's  secretary 
came  into  the  room.  "  I  will  be  with  you  at  once, 
Drayton,"  he  said,  and  turning  to  Goeffrey,  he  went 
on :  "  Davidge  asks  me  to  get  back  for  you,  the  money 
he  lost  —  he  tells  me  where  it  is.  Whether  I  can  do 


286  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

so  or  not,  is  hard  to  say.  Even  if  I  am  able  to,  it 
will  take  time,  months  perhaps,  perhaps  not  at  all. 
But  remember  one  thing,  don't  tell  anyone  that  you 
have  received  the  letter  or  that  you  have  seen  me.  If 
I  should  want  you,  I  will  send  for  you." 

"  Oh ! "  thought  Goeffrey  to  himself,  as  he  walked 
home  again,  "  to  get  my  money  back !  If  I  only 
could."  But  true  to  his  temperament,  his  mind  turned 
quite  as  often  to  the  contemplation  of  that  Persian 
carpet  with  its  subtle  and  elegant  tracery  and  the  deli- 
cate rose  color  of  its  worn  and  faded  surface  —  and 
he  walked  back  to  his  office,  forgetting  for  the  moment 
the  storm  his  inability  to  pay  would  arouse  among 
his  creditors. 

And  what  a  storm.  Goeffrey  dreading  it  as  he  did, 
found  that  he  had  far  underestimated  its  violence.  For 
a  fortnight  he  was  the  recipient  of  constant  calls, 
duns,  threats,  reproaches  and  repeated  requests  for 
explanations  as  to  why  there  was  no  money,  why  he 
had  induced  them  to  put  theirs  in,  when  he  was  so  poorly 
provided  with  it  himself,  that  he  was  doomed  to  failure. 
Eckstein  meanwhile  went  steadily  on  with  his  scheme 
of  getting  possession  of  the  property.  He  made 
formal  demand  on  Goeffrey  for  the  overdue  interest 
and  after  a  short  interval  began  suit  to  foreclose. 
The  claims  of  all  the  contractors  were  also  filed  and 
suit  in  every  case  brought  against  him.  He  became 
so  used  to  that  document  called  a  summons,  that  he 
would  merely  post  it  to  his  lawyer  without  even  look- 
ing to  find  out  who  the  new  litigant  might  be. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  287 

After  the  storm  had  passed  and  his  creditors,  con- 
vinced of  the  impossibility  of  getting  anything  from 
him,  had  resigned  themselves  to  waiting  for  the  trials 
of  their  suits  against  him,  Goeffrey,  taking  stock  of  his 
immediately  available  assets  one  morning,  found  that 
he  possessed  a  ten  dollar  bill  and  some  loose  change. 
He  put  up  at  auction  at  once  the  furniture  which  he 
had  loaned  Richard.  It  was  out  of  season  for  such 
sales,  but  he  could  not  wait  and  he  watched,  with  a 
sinking  heart,  his  beautiful  pieces  being  knocked  down 
at  a  tenth  of  their  value,  but  it  netted  him  a  few  hun- 
dred dollars  which  at  least  would  provide  for  the  needs 
of  his  immediate  future  —  and  a  week  later,  Stackpool, 
who  had  left  him  at  the  time  of  his  failure,  wrote  him 
that  the  architects  who  had  employed  him,  were  seek- 
ing the  services  of  a  draughtsman  with  a  French  train- 
ing. 

Goeffrey  called  at  once  and  was  engaged  on  approba- 
tion at  a  salary  of  thirty  dollars  a  week,  and  by  great 
good  luck  he  had  an  opportunity  to  rent  his  large 
front  room  which  he  had  used  as  a  draughting-room, 
keeping  his  bedroom  and  sitting-room  as  he  had  done 
before. 

A  new  life  began  for  him.  He  arrived  at  the  office 
at  nine,  worked  until  noon,  lunched  at  a  cheap  restau- 
rant as  quickly  as  possible,  worked  again  until  five 
and  went  home.  The  close  and  unaccustomed  appli- 
cation which  his  work  demanded,  tired  him  to  such  a 
degree  that  he  would  lie  down  almost  always  and 
sleep  until  time  for  dinner,  which  he  would  have  at 


288  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

some  small  table  d'hote  place  of  which  there  were 
several  close  at  hand. 

He  rarely  walked,  except  at  night,  because  he  had 
an  inexplicable  feeling  that  he  must  not  be  seen  by 
people  he  had  known  before,  a  feeling  that  in  be- 
coming poor  he  had  been  guilty  of  some  imprudent  and 
compromising  act  which  had  made  him  impossible.  He 
thought  often  of  this.  He  was  the  same  Goeffrey, 
his  complexion,  eyes,  hair  and  body  were  the  same, 
even  his  clothes  of  which  he  still  had  a  good  store  of 
extremely  smart  ones  when  he  chose  to  wear  them, 
had  not  appreciably  deteriorated  —  spiritually  he  was 
no  better  or  no  worse  than  before,  but  admitting  all 
this,  he  was  certain  that  in  becoming  poor,  he  had 
done  something  of  which  both  he  and  they  must  be 
ashamed.  He  had  been  helped  in  reaching  this  con- 
clusion by  an  unmistakable  attitude  toward  him,  shown 
by  one  or  two  people  whom  he  had  met  by  accident. 
They  had  been  neither  cold  nor  rude;  on  the  contrary, 
they  had  plainly  sympathized  with  him,  but  he  could 
see  that  to  them  Goeffrey  Hunter  stood  for  thirty 
thousand  a  year,  and  that  Goeffrey  without  it,  was  a 
very  different  person. 

Could  it  be,  he  asked  himself,  that  Nina  was  like 
that  too?  No,  he  could  not  admit  it.  He  would  never 
lose  faith  in  her.  She  had  simply  taken  the  perfectly 
rational  view  that  it  was  impossible  for  them  to  marry 
under  the  circumstances.  She  had  not  said  that  it 
must  never  be  thought  of;  simply  that  she  could  not 
face  a  life  of  what  to  her  would  be  poverty,  and  she 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  289 

had  been  courageous  enough  to  say  so.  He  had  writ- 
ten her  almost  frenzied  letters  at  first  which  she  never 
answered,  but  why  should  she?  Why  should  she  en- 
courage him  to  hope?  She  was  strong  that  was  all  — 
she  had  the  strength  to  face  an  impossible  situation 
and  to  end  it  too,  no  matter  how  much  pain  it  might 
cause  her,  and  Goeffrey  pictured  her  to  himself  wait- 
ing, and  hoping  silently,  determined  that  neither 
should  nurse  false  hopes,  but  longing  hourly  for 
some  change  of  fortune  which  would  unite  them 
again. 

So  Goeffrey  spent  his  evenings  in  dreaming;  dream- 
ing of  the  time  when  Storey  having  secured  his  money: 
for  him,  he  would  go  to  her  and  find  her  waiting 
—  of  how  going  into  some  room  where  she  was, 
she  would  look  up  with  great  joy  at  seeing  him,  know- 
ing that  he  would  not  be  there  unless  he  had  come  into 
his  own  again. 

Other  dreams  too  occupied  his  thoughts  at  times; 
dreams  of  his  past,  of  Italy,  of  his  life  in  Paris ;  scenes 
would  arise  up  before  him  possessing  peculiar  and 
tender  charms,  yet  fraught  with  feelings  of  poignant 
regret. 

Autumn  came,  and  with  the  first  hint  of  frost,  the 
city  changed  ;  woke  from  its  languorous  ease  and  became 
hard,  glittering,  brilliant  and  relentless.  The  streets 
became  crowded,  the  long  lines  of  motors  with  their 
yellow  lamps  began  to  move  again,  north  and  south, 
and  in  the  buildings  a  million  lights  gleamed  in  the 
clear  air. 


290  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Goeffrey  came  in  late  one  afternoon,  shivering  from 
the  cold.  He  had  laid  in  a  stock  of  coal  and  all  the 
way  home  he  had  been  thinking  how  grateful  the  cheer- 
ful warmth  of  his  fire  would  be  —  the  first  of  the  sea- 
son. He  touched  a  match  to  the  kindlings,  lighted 
his  lamp  and  drew  the  curtains.  He  sat  down  and 
watched  the  blaze  mount  higher  and  higher.  His  blood 
still  tingled.  How  cosy  it  was  and  yet  how  isolated 
his  life.  He  thought  of  the  streets  he  had  just  left; 
of  the  crowds  revivified  by  the  elixir  of  the  frosty  air. 
He  thought  of  the  gray  and  wintry  sky  —  the  town 
seemed  suddenly  to  be  filled  with  innumerable  activities, 
opportunities,  adventures,  in  which  he  had  no  share. 
Whether  here  or  in  the  streets,  he  was  alone,  without 
real  companionship  and  he  realized  that  his  sense  of 
loneliness  and  isolation  had  been  growing  until  it  was 
almost  insupportable.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  become 
again  that  friendless  little  boy  he  had  been  so  long 
before. 

The  street  door  was  opened  and  shut  again  below  and 
he  heard  the  sound  of  steps  on  the  uncarpeted  stairs. 
They  came  up  slowly  and  rather  shufflingly,  stopped 
outside  his  door  and  a  knock  sounded  on  its  panel. 
Goeffrey  got  up  and  opened  it  and  gave  an  exclamation 
of  joy.  Mr.  Bancroft  stood  there. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said,  shaking  the  old 
man's  dry,  bony  hand.  "  You  have  been  away  I  sup- 
pose and  the  cool  weather  has  brought  you  back  as  it 
has  the  others.  The  continent  as  usual?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Bancroft,  settling  himself  in 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  291 

one  of  the  two  armchairs  which  stood  on  the  hearth 
rug,  "  my  old  haunts ;  and  some  other  places  —  but 
I'm  getting  too  old,  my  boy  —  it's  too  gay  for  me,  I 
don't  think  I  shall  go  again.  Now  this  is  very  nice," 
he  added,  looking  about  him.  "  It's  comfortable  and 
warm  and  quiet  and  you  have  a  sense  of  isolation  here 
which  is  very  pleasant.  I  like  it." 

"Well,  I  don't,"  said  Goeffrey,  "I  never  see  any- 
one." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Mr.  Bancroft. 

"  One  reason  of  course  is,  that  it  has  been  summer," 
Goeffrey  answered,  "  and  everyone  has  been  away  * — 
and  then  I've  been  busy." 

"  No  word  from  your  precious  cousin  ?  " 

"  No  —  no  word,"  Goeffrey  answered.  "  Miss 
Davidge  told  me  in  June  that  they  would  be  abroad 
until  autumn.  Did  you  see  or  hear  of  them  while 
you  were  there?" 

"  Both,"  Mr.  Bancroft  replied. 

"  Are  they  —  ah  •. —  are  they  — "  began  Goeffrey. 

"  No,  they're  not,"  interrupted  Mr.  Bancroft. 
"  How  could  you  expect  it  ?  " 

"  I  didn't,  really,  but  I  hoped,"  Goeffrey  replied. 

"  I  neither  expected  nor  hoped,  I  knew  it  to  be  im- 
possible," said  the  old  man.  "  I  met  them,"  he  went 
on,  "  in  London,  we  were  stopping  at  the  same  hotel. 
She  was  very  kind  to  me.  She  asked  me  to  forgive 
her  for  something  she  had  said  to  me  just  before  they 
sailed  from  here  in  the  spring,  as  if  I  could  even  have 
remembered  it.  There  isn't  much  to  tell.  They  had 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

been  married  three  months  when  I  saw  them,  and  it  was 
over." 

"Does  she  no  longer  love  him?"  asked  Goeffrey. 

"Who  can  tell?"  Mr.  Bancroft  answered.  "It 
seemed  to  me  that  she  was  searching  with  a  sort  of 
despair  in  the  dross  of  his  nature  for  some  hidden 
jewel  which  she  might  set  up  and  worship  —  knowing 
that  she  would  never  find  it.  To  my  mind,  the  love 
of  a  woman  is  a  precious  thing  and  yet  how  lightly 
men  regard  it,"  —  he  paused  for  a  moment  —  "  she 
has  changed,"  he  added,  "  a  good  deal.  She  talked 
to  me  one  night  about  him  and  when  she  praised  his 
amiability,  I  knew  that  she  was  apologizing  secretly 
for  his  unstable  and  selfish  nature  —  but  she  said,  as 
if  in  spite  of  herself,  *  but  if  there  should  ever 
be  another  woman,  it  would  kill  me.'  In  her  heart  she 
knows  him,  knows  that  she  has  given  herself,  all  that 
she  has  to  give,  to  a  man  who  cares  not  one  iota  for  her, 
who  deceived  her  deliberately  because  she  was  rich, 
and  who  would  commit  that  crowning  wrong  against 
her  without  one  moment's  hesitation  and  without  com- 
punction. I  saw  her  again  in  Switzerland.  I  was 
just  leaving  for  England  to  sail  for  home.  She  said 
that  her  husband  had  stopped  in  Paris  for  a  few 
days  on  business  and  was  to  join  her  at  once.  They 
were  to  stay  for  a  fortnight  and  were  then  coming 
back  too  —  reaching  here  the  end  of  this  month.  On 
my  way  north,  I  stopped  for  a  few  days  at  Paris. 
One  night,  in  that  little  cafe  at  the  head  of  the  Rue 
d'Antin,  a  friend,  who  was  with  me,  pointing  out  some 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  293 

of  the  celebrities  of  the  half  world  who  were  there, 
called  my  attention,  among  others,  to  a  young,  dark 
and  good  looking  woman  who,  he  told  me,  was  a  dancer 
—  a  gutter  bred  Parisian  brat  —  who  had  just  re- 
turned from  an  amazing  success  in  London.  I  would 
never  have  thought  of  her  again  had  it  not  been  that 
coming  in  from  Chantilly  on  the  following  day,  I 
saw  her  in  a  motor  with  your  cousin.  Truly,  society 
produces  strange  monstrosities,  but  wait!  He  still 
has  me  to  deal  with.  I  will  ruin  him  yet  —  with  his 
heartlessness,  his  selfishness,  his  broken  promises." 

He  sat  musingly  for  a  moment  and  then  looked  up 
quickly. 

"  From  the  way  I  come  here  and  curse  your  cousin, 
one  might  think  that  I  considered  you  responsible  for 
him,  but  I  don't  —  have  you  dined?  You  say  you're 
lonely  —  well,  so  am  I*—  dine  with  me  —  we  may 
cheer  each  other  up." 

Goeffrey  jumped  up  with  alacrity  —  dining  with 
an  old  gentleman  of  seventy  could  hardly  be  looked 
upon  as  an  adventure,  but  it  was  a  most  welcome  change 
from  the  monotony  of  his  existence. 

They  went  into  the  street.  The  wind  had  risen  and 
snow  was  beginning  to  fall.  Mr.  Bancroft  turned  into 
Delmonico's,  found  an  unoccupied  table  in  the  corner  of 
the  cafe  and  ordered  a  dinner,  such  as  Goeffrey  had  not 
tasted  for  many  months.  The  ugly  room  looked  ex- 
traordinarily attractive  to  him,  and  under  the  influence 
of  the  music,  which  came  to  them  at  intervals  from 
a  distance,  and  Mr.  Bancroft's  favorite  burgundy,  his 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

spirits  rose  quickly,  and  even  his  companion,  aside 
from  an  occasional  reference  to  his  beloved  Constance, 
the  thought  of  whom  was  never  long  absent  from  his 
mind,  seemed  to  have  put  aside  the  concern  for  her 
which  obsessed  him. 

At  ten  o'clock,  however,  he  paid  his  bill  and  said, 
"  I  have  turned  over  a  new  leaf  since  I  saw  you  last  — 
I  go  to  bed  early.  But  how  is  it  with  you?  Con- 
stance asked  particularly  about  you,  and  about 
Storey.  I  neglected  to  ask  you  —  and  Miss  Nina, 
is  all  going  well  with  you  —  when  are  you  to  be  mar- 
ried? " 

"  For  the  present,  we've  given  up  all  thought  of 
that,"  Goeffrey  answered.  "  You  see  I  haven't  been 
doing  very  well  and  I  couldn't  support  her  properly  — 
not  at  present,  at  least." 

"  But  she  has  five  thousand  a  year,  which  her  father 
couldn't  get  hold  of.  That,  with  what  you  could  earn, 
wouldn't  be  poverty  exactly.  But  young  people  look 
at  such  things  differently  in  these  days  I  suppose." 
And  he  got  up  from  the  table. 

Goeffrey  could  hardly  conceal  his  surprise;  five- 
thousand  a  year!  He  had  never  known  that  before, 
how  very  strange.  He  bade  Mr.  Bancroft  good-night 
and  they  separated  at  the  corner.  As  he  walked  home- 
ward, a  cloud  seemed  to  have  settled  down  on  him,  a 
depression  he  could  not  shake  off.  Nina  had  never  told 
him  of  this  —  not  that  it  would  have  made  their  mar- 
riage more  possible,  but  she  had  never  told  him;  for 
the  first  time  he  began  to  doubt  —  to  feel  that  per- 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  295 

haps  she  was  not  as  ingenuous  as  he  had  always  be- 
lieved her  to  be. 

The  first  storm  of  winter  had  begun  furiously.  The 
crowds  and  the  lights  had  vanished,  the  deserted  streets 
were  already  white  with  snow,  a  biting  wind  blew.  He 
turned  up  the  collar  of  his  coat  and  shivered.  As  he 
neared  his  house,  he  saw  a  woman  standing  on  the  pave- 
ment opposite,  looking  up  at  it  —  a  street  lamp 
burned  at  a  little  distance  and  he  thought  from  her 
figure  and  the  glint  of  her  fair  hair,  that  it  was  Doris. 
The  snow  and  the  sound  of  the  wind  deadened  his 
footsteps  and  she  was  looking  at  the  house  so  intently 
that  she  did  not  see  him  until  she  heard  her  name  and 
turned  toward  him  with  a  start. 

"  Doris,"  he  said,  "  it  is  so  long  since  I've  seen  you 
—  were  you  coming  in  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ! "  she  answered,  almost  wrenching  her  hand 
from  his.  "  I  was  passing  and  I  looked  at  your  win- 
dows —  they  were  dark  so  I  thought  you  didn't  live 
there  any  more,"  and  she  began  walking  quickly  away. 
"  I  must  go  now." 

"  But  you  shouldn't  be  alone  on  such  a  night.  Let 
me  take  you  to  where  you  were  going." 

She  stopped  and  stamped  her  foot.  "No!  No! 
please,  I  won't  have  you  —  it's  only  a  step  —  I'll  come 
to  see  you  soon,  let  me  go." 

She  spoke  with  such  intensity,  in  such  an  agitated 
voice,  that  Goeffrey  stopped  and  she  went  on  quickly 
without  turning  again.  He  was  so  puzzled  by  her 
behavior,  that  he  paused  on  the  steps  of  his  house  after 


296  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

he  had  crossed  the  street  and  watched  her.  The  block 
was  a  long  one  and  he  could  see  that  her  pace  was 
much  slower  than  at  first  and  as  she  reached  the  distant 
corner  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  turned  and  was  com- 
ing back  again.  In  a  moment  he  was  sure  of  it. 
Puzzled  still  more,  he  went  into  the  shadow  of  the 
vestibule,  feeling  sure  that  it  would  conceal  him,  and 
waited.  Presently  she  came  within  the  line  of  his 
vision  and  stopped  opposite  the  house  as  she  had  done 
before.  Goeffrey  watched  her.  He  could  not  under- 
stand it.  Why  should  she  stand  there  before  his  house 
in  such  weather.  Suddenly  he  darted  across  the  street 
and  caught  her  arm. 

"  Doris !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  are  crying  —  what 
is  it?"  She  struggled  slightly,  but  he  would  not  let 
her  go.  "  Come  in,"  he  said,  "  you  must,"  and  he  led, 
almost  supported  her  across  the  street  again  and  up  the 
stairs  to  his  door.  He  opened  it  quickly,  locked  it  and 
turned  up  the  student  lamp  which  stood  on  the  table. 
The  fire  which  he  had  replenished  before  going  out  with 
Mr.  Bancroft,  was  burning  brightly.  He  led  her  to 
the  sofa  which  stood  before  the  fire  between  his  easy 
chairs  and  made  her  sit  down  on  it,  taking  a  place 
beside  her.  He  felt  through  her  gloves  that  her  hands 
were  icy  cold.  "You  are  freezing,"  he  said.  He 
pulled  off  the  gloves  and  began  chafing  her  hands.  Sud- 
denly she  put  her  face  against  his  shoulder  and  began 
to  weep,  quietly  but  terribly.  Goeffrey  put  his  arms 
around  her  and  drew  her  to  him  closely  as  if  to  give 
her  the  warmth  of  his  body  and  held  her  there  while 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  297 

she  wept,  wept  unceasingly  on  his  shoulder,  shivering 
from  time  to  time ;  held  her  until  his  arms  ached,  until 
her  shivering  stopped,  then  her  sobs,  and  until  hear- 
ing a  long  and  trembling  sigh,  he  looked  and  saw  that 
she  was  asleep. 

She  slept  so  deeply  that  it  did  not  wake  her  when 
he  laid  her  on  the  sofa,  placed  a  cushion  under  her 
head  and  covered  her  with  a  rug.  He  looked  at  his 
watch.  It  was  midnight.  Going  into  his  pantry  he 
took  stock  of  his  provisions.  He  knew  that  he  was 
well  supplied,  because  it  was  Saturday,  and  on  Sunday 
he  often  got  his  own  dinner.  He  was  not  an  accom- 
plished cook,  but  the  simple  things  he  could  do,  he 
did  well.  He  would  broil  some  chops  for  her  and 
make  coffee.  He  had  some  very  good  rolls  and  fresh 
butter  —  and  he  set  to  work.  A  little  later,  going 
into  the  sitting-room  to  lay  the  table,  he  saw  that  she 
was  awake,  lying  as  he  had  placed  her  and  looking  at 
the  fire.  Bending  over  her  he  said  gently,  "  Are  you 
warm  now?  " 

"  Oh,  so  deliciously  warm,"  she  answered. 

He  noticed  one  of  her  boots  which  was  not  covered 
by  the  rug,  and  put  his  hand  on  it.  "  It  is  soaking 
wet !  "  he  exclaimed.  But  what  could  she  wear  in  their 
place?  He  was  bewildered  for  a  moment,  then  going 
to  a  cabinet,  he  took  from  it  a  pair  of  old  brocade 
slippers  he  had  picked  up  in  Paris  long  ago  —  the  kind 
called  "  mules  "  by  the  French. 

"  I  believe  they  will  just  fit  you,"  he  said.  "Take 
off  your  shoes  and  hang  your  stockings  in  front  of  the 


298  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

fire  —  they  will  dry  in  no  time ;  your  boots  will  take 
longer,  but  in  the  meantime  you  can  wear  the  mules, 
by  that  time  supper  will  be  ready."  And  he  went  into 
the  pantry  and  shut  the  door.  But  when  he  came  in 
later,  he  found  that  she  had  not  moved. 

"  I'm  too  tired,  Goeffrey,"  she  said. 

"  But  I'm  afraid  you'll  take  cold,  let  me  unbutton 
them.  Your  stockings  are  pretty  wet,"  he  said,  "  but 
if  you  will  sit  in  a  chair  you  can  put  your  feet  on) 
a  footstool  and  not  bother  to  take  them  off." 

She  obeyed  him  with  a  sort  of  pathetic  humility. 
He  drew  up  one  of  the  easy  chairs,  placed  the  foot- 
stool for  her  and  retired  to  the  pantry  again  to  com- 
plete his  preparations.  When  he  came  out  again  she 
was  putting  on  the  slippers. 

"  They're  quite  dry  now,"  she  said. 

He  placed  the  small  table  before  her  and  brought 
in  their  supper.  When  all  was  arranged,  he  sat  down 
facing  her.  "  I've  made  some  coffee  you  see,  it  will 
do  you  good." 

They  began  without  speaking.  Goeffrey  noticed  that 
she  ate  with  an  effort,  but  that  she  drank  her  coffee 
with  avidity.  He  filled  her  cup  twice.  When  they 
had  finished,  Goeffrey  said  to  her : 

"Are  you  rested  now?  " 

"  Yes,  Goeffrey." 

"  Then  perhaps  I  had  better  take  you  home  —  you 
are  tired  out;  a  good  sleep  will  do  you  more  good 
than  anything  —  and  if  you  will  let  me,  I  will  come  and 
see  how  you  are  in  the  morning." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  299 

"  Yes,  Goeff rey,"  she  repeated  in  the  same  humble 
and  listless  way.  Goeffrey  went  to  the  telephone,  but 
as  he  took  the  receiver  from  its  hook,  he  saw  that  she 
was  looking  at  him  as  if  in  terror. 

"Goeffrey,"  she  cried,  "what  are  you  doing?" 

"  I  was  going  to  call  a  cab,"  he  answered,  '*  it's  so 
stormy." 

"But  Goeffrey,  I  have  no  place  to  go^no  place 
—  that's  why  I  came  to  you  —  don't  you  want  me, 
do  you  want  me  to  go?  " 

She  stood  up  wringing  her  hands  and  began  to  weep 
again.  Goeffrey  went  quickly  up  to  her  and  put  his 
hands  on  her  shoulders. 

"  Why,  Doris,  I  didn't  understand  —  of  course  you 
must  stay.  How  could  you  think  that  I  would  not 
want  you  to.  But  you  didn't  tell  me." 

When  he  had  quieted  her,  he  remade  his  bed  and  re- 
appeared with  his  sheets  and  blankets  in  his  arms. 

"  Everything  is  ready  now,"  he  said.  "  You  take  my 
bed  and  I  will  sleep  here  on  the  sofa  —  no,"  as  he  saw 
that  she  was  about  to  protest,  "  I  insist ;  the  sofa  and 
I  are  old  companions.  Sleep  as  late  as  you  like,  to- 
morrow is  Sunday  and  when  you're  ready,  we'll  have 
breakfast  together.  Good-night." 

"  Good-night,  Goeffrey." 

Goeffrey  undressed  quickly,  put  out  his  lamp  and 
got  into  bed.  In  a  few  minutes  he  heard  the1  door  open 
and  Doris  said  to  him  softly: 

"  Goeffrey." 

"Yes,  Doris." 


600  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Might  I  leave  the  door  open  a  little  ?  " 

"Yes,  Doris,  of  course." 

After  a  little,  he  called: 

"  Doris." 

"Yes,  Goeffrey  .'> 

"Are  you  all  right?" 

"Quite  all  right,  thanks." 

In  a  little  while  he  called  again. 

«  Doris." 

But  there  was  no  answer. 

Goeffrey  lay  and  looked  at  the  fire  thinking  about 
her.  Why  had  she  opened  the  door  he  asked  himself, 
and  was  ashamed  of  himself  the  moment  after.  She 
was  nervous  and  over-wrought  and  wanted  to  feel  that 
someone  was  within  call.  But  what  could  have  hap- 
pened to  her  —  what  ill  fortune  could  have  overtaken 
her  to  reduce  her  so  quickly  to  such  apparent  poverty. 
He  had  noticed  that  she  was  not  even  warmly  enough 
dressed.  Poor  Doris !  But  there  was  something 
delicious  about  having  her  there  —  poor  little  waif  — 
a  waif,  yes,  but  a  beautiful  one  —  and  a  woman  — 
yes,  something  delicious  about  it.  What  hair  she  had, 
what  —  the  fire  seemed  to  grow  dim  —  and  Goeffrey 
was*  asleep  too. 


CHAPTER  XX 

BUT  Doris  did  not  satisfy  Goeffrey's  curiosity  as  to 
what  had  brought  about  so  great  a  change  in  the 
material  conditions  of  her  life.  When  he  awoke  next 
morning,  the  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  looking 
at  his  watch,  he  saw  that  it  was  ten  o'clock.  The  door 
to  his  bedroom  was  closed  and  he  could  hear  her  moving 
about  inside.  He  dressed  quickly,  folded  up  his  sheets 
and  blankets,  putting  them  away  in  a  cupboard,  lighted 
the  fire,  and  then  in  response  to  his  knock,  learning 
that  she  would  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,  he  hastened 
to  prepare  breakfast. 

Before  this,  however,  he  had  noticed  her  boots. 
They  stood  on  the  hearth  with  an  air  of  irresolution 
as  if  they  felt  that  something  was  expected  of  them, 
they  knew  not  what,  and  in  their  shabbiness  there 
seemed  to  lie  such  a  reproach,  that  he  took  them  into 
his  pantry  and  polished  them  carefully,  placing  them 
by  her  door  so  that  she  would  not  fail  to  see  them 
when  she  opened  it.  This  act  of  his  touched  her 
deeply,  but  she  did  not  even  thank  him,  because  she 
was  afraid,  —  afraid  that  the  self-control  which  she 
was  gradually  gaining  over  herself  might  be  swept 
away  again  if  she  spoke  of  it. 

When  she  came  in  to  breakfast  she  looked  much  better 

301 


302  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

than  she  had  the  night  before.  Her  hair  was  carefully 
done,  and  the  delicate  coloring  of  her  peach-like  skin 
had  returned.  Goeffrey  felt  again  that  delicious  — 
that  strangely  sweet  sensation  of  the  night  before, 
but  whether  it  was  because  she  was  a  woman  and  beau- 
tiful, or  because  she  was  Doris,  he  did  not  know. 

The  situation  in  which  they  found  themselves  was 
so  unusual  that  breakfast,  like  dinner,  passed  almost 
in  silence,  but  after  Goeffrey  had  cleared  the  things 
away,  he  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  sofa. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  now,  Doris?  Perhaps  I  can  help 
you." 

"  I  can't,  Goeffrey  —  I  want  your  help,  but  will  it 
be  all  right,  if  I  don't  tell  you?  Sometime  I  may,  but 
not  now,"  she  answered. 

"  Do  as  you  think  best,  Doris,  of  course,"  he  re- 
plied. "  I  only  asked  because  I  thought  it  might 
be  necessary.  Tell  me  how  I  can  help  you." 

"  Soon  after  I  saw  you  last,  months  ago,  in  the  sum- 
mer," she  answered,  "  something  happened.  The 
thing  I  can't  tell  you  —  and  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
I  would  cut  loose  absolutely  from  every  particle  of  my 
old  life  —  the  life  of  the  theaters,  of  our  old  friends  — 
they  used  to  be  yours  too  —  and  begin  again  in  another 
way.  I  had  never  been  happy  in  it  and  the  thing  I 
can't  tell  you  about  gave  me  the  courage  to  try.  Well 
—  I've  had  a  hard  time  of  it.  Sometimes  I  haven't 
been  able  to  see  how  I  could  possibly  get  through 
another  day  and  yet  I  always  managed  to  somehow, 
until  this  week  —  and  then  —  well,  last  night  —  when 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  303 

I  think  of  it  it  frightens  me.  I  was  trying  to  muster 
up  courage  to  come  and  tell  you,  and  when  you  spoke 
to  me  so  suddenly  I  couldn't,  it  was  impossible.  But 
Goeffrey,  I  hadn't  any  other  place  to  go  —  that  I  -would 
go  to,  and  I  had  to  come  back,  and  even  then  I  couldn't 
make  up  my  mind  to  come  in  —  the  humiliation  of  it 
—  the  —  the  —  I  was  ashamed." 

"Oh,  Doris,  ashamed  to  come  to  me.  Haven't  I 
been  through  all  that  myself?  We  are  in  the  same 
boat." 

"  You  ! "  exclaimed  Doris.  "  Didn't  you  get  — " 
and  checked  herself. 

"Get  finished  with  my  building?  why  no,  don't  you 
remember,  I  told  you  about  it?  " 

"  Yes  —  you  did  —  I  had  forgotten.  But,  Goef- 
frey, what  are  you  doing  now?  " 

"  Working  as  a  draughtsman  in  the  office  of  an 
architect." 

Doris  looked  at  him  in  horror.  "  You!  Goeffrey, 
how  awful." 

Goeffrey  laughed.  "  I  don't  see  anything  very  aw- 
ful about  it.  I  get  a  salary  of  thirty  dollars  a  week 
and  I  have  a  few  hundreds  in  the  bank  —  quite  enough 
for  my  needs  and  enough  to  take  care  of  you,  until 
I  can  find  something  for  you  to  do,  which  will  be  quite 
easy.  I'll  tell  you  why."  And  he  explained  to  her 
that  he  had  thought  at  once  of  his  cousin's  wife,  who 
had  been  Mrs.  Aladine.  Mr.  Bancroft  had  been  in  the 
night  before  and  had  told  him  that  she  would  be  back 
in  less  than  a  fortnight,  and  among  her  many  guilds 


304  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

— her  societies  —  her  institutions  —  for  which  she  did 
so  much,  she  would  be  certain  to  have  something  where 
Doris  could  be  of  help  to  her. 

"  So  we  will  consider  it  settled  and  think  no  more 
about  it  until  she  gets  back,"  he  added,  and  getting  up 
he  opened  the  window  for  a  moment.  "  It's  much 
warmer  —  what  do  you  say  to  a  walk,  will  it  be  too 
cold  for  you?  " 

"  No,  Goeffrey,  I  would  like  it." 

"  Poor  Doris,"  he  said,  "  you  were  so  cold  last  night. 
To-morrow  I  will  buy  you  a  winter  coat." 

"Will  you,  Goeffrey?"  she  answered  with  that  air 
of  humility,  and  again  Goeffrey  felt  that  strangely 
sweet  sensation. 

On  going  out  they  found  the  sun  shining  with  such 
warmth,  that  the  snow  of  the  night  before  had  vanished. 
The  pavements  were  almost  dry,  and  Fifth  Avenue  was 
thronged  with  its  usual  heterogeneous  swarm  of  Sunday 
promenaders.  As  he  walked  with  her,  Goeffrey 
thought  of  his  feelings  of  loneliness  and  isolation  the 
day  before,  when  he  had  come  home  out  of  the  crowded 
streets,  and  how,  since  she  had  been  there,  not  only 
had  they  disappeared,  but  he  would  have  found  it 
difficult  to  think  of  anyone  whose  companionship  at 
that  moment  would  have  been  so  delightful  to  him. 
He  thought  of  Nina,  and  as  he  wondered  if  he  were 
being  disloyal  to  her,  Mr.  Bancroft's  words  came  to  his 
mind. 

"If  it  is  true  —  could  she  blame  me?"  he  said  to 
himself. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  305 

On  reaching  the  park  they  had  turned  into  it.  It 
too  was  thronged  with  people,  but  under  Doris's  guid- 
ance, they  found  themselves  at  last  in  a  narrow  and  de- 
serted path.  A  bench,  almost  hidden  by  shrubbery, 
stood  on  one  side  of  it. 

"  Shall  we  rest  here  for  a  little  while? "  she  sug- 
gested. And  when  they  were  seated  she  said: 

"  Do  you  remember,  Goeffrey,  that  last  time  I  saw 
you,  in  the  summer,  when  something  I  said  offended 
you?  That  was  the  night  the  thing  happened  which 
caused  me  to  break  forever  with  the  past « —  and  that 
night  I  spent  here  —  on  this  bench." 

"  Oh !  Doris,  and  I  had  made  it  impossible  for  you 
to  come  to  me  for  help.  Have  you  forgiven  me  ?  " 

"  It  wasn't  your  fault." 

"  But  I  have  something  to  tell  you  —  about  what 
you  said  then  about  Miss  Davidge.  I  am  not  sure  — 
but  you  may  have  been  right." 

They  sat  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and  then  Goeffrey 
turning  toward  her,  saw  that  she  was  looking  at  him 
strangely,  with  a  sort  of  soft  blaze  in  her  eyes  that 
thrilled  him. 

Suddenly  she  got  up  saying,  "  I  am  rested  now." 
But  they  had  gone  but  a  few  steps  when  she  said,  "  May 
we  go  back,  Goeffrey?  " 

Something  in  her  face  startled  him  for  a  moment. 
"  Are  you  ill?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  I'm  all  right,  only  tired  — 
more  than  I  thought." 

When  they  reached  the  drive,  Goeffrey  hailed  a  cab 


306  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

and  they  returned  in  it.  He  watched  her  anxiously  on 
the  way.  She  looked  very  pale  again  and  fatigued; 
there  were  shadows  under  her  eyes  and  a  pinched  and 
whitish  look  about  her  nostrils  and  her  mouth.  He 
thought  that  she  had  the  look  of  a  person  who  had  been 
insufficiently  nourished,  and  with  a  pang  of  self-re- 
proach, he  realized  that  he  had  only  offered  her  for 
breakfast  what  he  himself  had  been  accustomed  to,  a 
couple  of  boiled  eggs  and  tea  —  he  was  sure  now  that 
she  needed  food.  Fortunately  he  had  in  his  ice-box, 
a  cold  chicken  which  he  had  bought  ready  roasted  the 
morning  before.  He  had  been  keeping  it  intending  to 
produce  it  as  the  piece  de  resistance  of  their  dinner  = 
but  as  soon  as  they  had  reached  his  rooms,  he  set  the 
table  and  brought  it  in  with  some  salad  and  a  bottle 
of  old  Chablis,  he  happened  to  have,  one  of  a  few  he 
had  brought  with  him  from  his  former  quarters.  He 
remembered  with  delight  that  she  had  drunk  some  of 
it  before  and  had  praised  it. 

"  It  isn't  too  early,  is  it?  "  he  asked  her.  "  And  see, 
Doris,  I  still  have  some  of  the  Chablis  you  used  to 
like." 

Goeffrey  possessed  a  hearty  appetite  and  he  pur- 
posely made  more  of  a  display  of  it  than  usual,  to  give 
countenance  to  her  very  apparent  hunger.  He  re- 
membered that  the  night  before  she  had  eaten  little 
owing  to  her  agitation,  and  how  they  each  attacked 
the  chicken  with  avidity,  neither  stopping  until  its 
bones  were  picked  clean.  By  the  time  they  had  finished, 
the  early  twilight  of  a  winter's  day  was  beginning  to 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  307 

fall.  Goeffrey  moved  the  table  and  drew  their  chairs 
toward  the  fire. 

"  But  Goeffrey,"  Doris  said,  "  I  mustn't  stay  here 
to-night.  I  must  find  some  place  to  go." 

"  Not  until  to-morrow,  Doris,"  he  answered  firmly. 
"  Take  pity  on  my  loneliness  and  then  in  a  little  while, 
you  know,  we  are  going  to  have  tea." 

For  the  first  time  she  laughed  —  a  laugh  of  pure 
happiness. 

"  Oh,  Goeffrey,"  she  said,  "  not  for  hours  yet.  But 
would  you  like  me  to  stay  ?  " 

"  Oh,  so  much,  you  can't  think  what  good  your  be- 
ing here  has  done  me." 

"  But,  does  no  one  come  here?  " 

"  No  one.  Mr.  Bancroft  was  the  first  in  months  — 
and  as  for  servants,  I  won't  have  them.  For  one  rea- 
son every  one  I  ever  had,  except  Waters,  used  to  break 
my  china,  and  for  another,  I  can't  afford  it,  so  I  am  my 
own  housmaid  now.  And  then  I  like  to  think  that 
this  place  is  my  own  and  that  no  one  can  come  here  un- 
less I  wish  it." 

They  sat  on  and  on,  unconscious  of  the  flight  of 
time,  talking  in  commonplaces,  or  looking  in  silence 
at  the  fire,  aware  only  of  an  extraordinary  felicity  in 
being  together,  until  at  last  Goeffrey  insisted  on  get- 
ting tea. 

When  he  came  in  after  finally  putting  things  to 
rights  for  the  night,  he  found  that  Doris  had  taken  to 
the  sofa  again. 

"You  are  not  ill?"  he  asked  anxiously. 


308  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"No  —  just  a  little  tired,"  she  answered,  "but  so 
much  more  rested  than  I  have  been  for  a  long  time." 

Goeffrey  sat  down  and  lighted  a  cigarette.  She  was 
silent  for  so  long,  that  he  thought  that  she  had  gone 
to  sleep,  but  at  last  she  said: 

"Goeffrey?" 

«  Yes,  Doris." 

"  I  have  never  told  you  anything  about  myself. 
Would  you  like  me  to  ?  " 

"Why,  yes.  Don't  you  remember — I  have  asked 
you  to  more  than  once,  but  you  never  would?  " 

"I  couldn't  then,"  she  answered,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment she  went  on.  "  Did  you  know  that  I  could 
speak  Russian?  —  yes  —  quite  well.  We  lived  in  St. 
Petersburg  until  I  was  ten  —  my  father  took  us  there 
from  Constantinople  where  I  was  born.  My  father 
was  English  —  he  was  a  newspaper  correspondent  and 
a  very  brilliant  man.  He  met  my  mother,  who  was 
French,  in  Constantinople  and  married  her  there.  He 
had  been  connected  with  one  of  the  London  papers  for 
a  long  time  and  of  course  went  where  they  wished 
him  to  go.  My  mother  did  not  like  Constantinople 
nor  St.  Petersburg,  nor  in  fact  any  place  except  Paris, 
and  as  my  father  liked  it  too,  he  had  long  been  anxious 
to  receive  the  post  of  Paris  correspondent,  and  at  last 
they  gave  it  to  him  and  we  went  there  to  live. 

"  The  newspaper  paid  my  father  fifty  thousand  francs 
a  year  and  as  he  made  money  besides,  writing  other 
things,  we  lived  very  well. 

"  Our  apartment  was  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore  near 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  309 

the  Elysee  Palace  and  of  all  Paris  I  have  always 
loved  that  quarter  the  best.  We  lived  there  for  three 
years  and  I  was  very  happy,  Goeffrey,  and  then  my 
mother  died,  and  after  that  my  happiness  began  to 
leave  me.  My  father  gave  up  our  apartment  and  went 
to  live  at  an  hotel,  but  in  a  year  he  died  too,  and  then 
I  went  to  London.  He  was  very  generous  and  always 
spent  money  freely,  and  after  his  death  it  was  found 
that  he  had  left  almost  nothing.  The  people  at  the 
hotel  and  some  friends  in  Paris  found,  through  his 
paper  in  London,  that  his  only  relative  was  a  sister 
there,  and  on  her  being  notified  of  his  death,  she  came 
over  to  Paris  to  take  me  back  with  her.  She  lived  in 
Chelsea,  on  an  annuity  given  her  by  some  distant  rel- 
atives of  her  husband,  who  had  been  dead  many  years. 
For  three  years  I  lived  there,  and  then  she  died  and  I 
had  no  one.  I  was  seventeen  —  I  had  no  money,  ex- 
cept a  few  pounds,  and  no  relatives  —  and  — "  she 
paused  for  a  moment  and  then  she  said,  "  and  that's 
all." 

"  All,"  repeated  Goeffrey,  "  there  must  be  much  more 
to  tell." 

"  Not  much  that  I  wouldn't  be  glad  to  forget." 

"  Poor  little  Doris,"  he  said. 

"  But  Goeffrey  —  last  night  and  all  day  torday,  I 
have  had  a  feeling  that  I  haven't  known  since  those 
happy,  happy  days  in  Paris.  A  feeling  of  security 
and  friendliness  and  of  shelter  —  and  I  shall  never 
forget  it  —  never." 

"  If  I  have  done  that  for  you,"  he  answered,  "  then 


310  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

I  have  repaid  you  a  little  for  what  you  have  done  for 
me  in  driving  away  my  dullness;  and  Doris,  you  must 
remember  now  that  I  am  your  true  friend  and  that  you 
need  never  feel  alone  and  friendless  again." 
"  Thank  you,  Goeffrey." 

They  sat  in  silence  for  a  time  and  then  she  said : 
"  Do  you  remember,  Goeffrey,  how  we  used  to  talk 
about  Italy  and  France  and  how  we  both  used  to  say 
how  much  we  would  like  to  see  them  again?     Do  you 
still  want  to?" 

"  Oh,  more  than  ever  —  much  more  —  do  you  ?  " 
"  Sometimes  with  such  a  longing  that  is  almost  un- 
endurable —  but  it  is  always  to  see  Paris  —  I  suppose 
because  I  was  happy  there.  Sometimes  I  dream  about 
it  and  it  is  always  the  Paris  of  the  quarter  where  we 
lived.  How  beautiful  it  was.  You  would  go  down  the 
Avenue  Marigny  a  little  way  and  you  would  be  at  the 
Avenue  Gabriel  —  the  prettiest  of  all  7  think,  and  just 
across  the  road  was  the  Champs  Elysee  and  the  little 
guignol  theaters  —  and  there  close  at  hand  was  the 
Place  de  le  Concord  and  beyond  that  the  gardens  of 
the  Tuileries,  and  beyond  them  the  Louvre  and  at  one 
side  the  bridges  and  the  Seine.  How  beautiful  —  how 
beautiful  —  and  every  day  when  it  was  pleasant,  I 
used  to  play  there  —  in  the  Champs  Elysee,  and  of  all 
the  little  boys  who  used  to  be  there  I  have  often  thought 
that  one  of  them  might  very  well  have  been  you.  You 
lived  there  too,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  When    I   was    studying   architecture,    for  a  long 
time,"  answered  Goeffrey,  "  and  before  that  many  times 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  311 

for  a  little  while.  One  spring  we  lived,  when  I  was  a 
boy,  on  the  Avenue  Montaigne  —  just  across  the 
Champs  Elysee  you  know,  and  I  used  often  to  go 
there." 

There  was  another  silence  and  then  Doris  said: 

"  Goeffrey,  do  you  think  that  a  person  could  do  a 
wrong  thing  without  being  lowered  by  it?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  think  they  might  • —  it 
would  be  quite  possible." 

"  But  if  they  wanted  someone  else  to  value  them, 
and  this  thing  that  they  had  done  might  lessen  the 
other's  value  of  them  if  they  knew  it;  would  it  be 
wrong  not  to  tell  about  it?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  it  would,  Doris  —  because  then  they 
might  be  wronging  the  other  person  by  concealing  it 
—  and  after  all  a  wrong  is  so  mainly,  if  it  hurts  other 
people,  not  so  much  ourselves.  Don't  you  think  so?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  is  so  —  I  only  wanted  to  ask.  And 
now  I  think  perhaps  I  had  better  go  to  bed." 

They  stood  up. 

"  Good-night,  Doris,"  said  Goeffrey. 

"  Good-night." 

"Are  you  happier  now?  " 

"  Oh,  so  much  happier,  Goeffrey."  And  she  went  into 
her  room  and  closed  the  door.  Yes,  Doris  was  happy, 
but  happy  with  an  anguish  that  seemed  unsupportable, 
because  she  knew  that  the  time  must  come  soon  when 
she  would  lose  it  again  —  that  there  could  be  no  per- 
haps! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  night  Pandolfi  had  driven  her  out  of  her  house 
—  Doris  had  gone  back  into  the  park,  found  the  bench 
she  had  shown  Goeffrey  and  had  stayed  there  until 
morning,  holding  the  stiletto  in  her  hand;  partly  be- 
cause she  was  frightened  and  partly  because  she  had 
discovered  that  she  had  something  with  her  on  which 
she  could  borrow  money  and  she  did  not  intend  to  let 
anyone  take  it  away  from  her.  This  was  a  very  fine 
Swiss  watch  with  a  long  gold  chain  which  had  belonged 
to  her  mother.  With  the  money  she  could  get  on  it 
at  a  pawnbroker's,  she  hoped  to  be  able  to  live  until 
she  could  find  something  to  do  by  which  she  could  sup- 
port herself.  She  had  determined  to  cut  loose  abso- 
lutely and  forever,  not  only  from  her  past  life,  but 
from  the  friends  connected  with  it  and  she  had  no 
others.  She  slept  a  little  at  intervals,  but  the  bench 
was  uncomfortable  and  each  time  she  woke  with  a 
start  from  a  dream  in  which  she  thought  that  a  thief 
was  cautiously  drawing  the  watch  out  of  her  belt. 
Even  at  daybreak,  she  was  afraid  to  leave  her  place 
of  concealment  and  she  stayed  there  until  people  be- 
gan to  pass  frequently  and  she  knew  that  the  city 
was  awake  again.  She  looked  at  her  watch,  found 
that  it  was  seven  o'clock,  threw  the  stiletto  under  the 
bushes  and  got  up.  On  leaving  the  park,  she  found 

319 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  313 

that  the  shops  were  not  open  and  she  walked  for  many 
blocks  down  Sixth  Avenue  before  she  succeeded  in  dis- 
covering what  she  was  in  search  of.  The  pawnbroker 
advanced  sixty  dollars  on  her  watch.  She  placed  the 
roll  of  bills  in  the  bosom  of  her  dress,  retaining  one  of 
small  denomination  which  she  thrust  into  her  glove  and 
went  to  the  nearest  restaurant  for  breakfast ;  for  she 
was  very  hungry.  Seeking  afterwards  a  department 
shop,  she  purchased  some  changes  of  linen,  a  cheap 
valise  to  put  them  in  and  a  purse  in  which  to  keep  her 
money;  found  and  rented  a  small  room  in  a  lodging 
house  and  began  to  look  for  work.  Many  heart  break- 
ing hours  Doris  passed  in  that  month,  during  the  heat 
of  the  summer,  before  she  found  it.  She  was 
without  experience  of  any  kind  which  would  be  of 
help  to  her  and  the  season  made  it  still  more  difficult. 
At  last  one  day  she  passed  on  Fifth  Avenue  the  shop 
of  a  modiste,  an  Irishwoman  with  a  French  name,  where 
she  had  bought  an  occasional  gown  in  other  days. 
The  shop  with  its  window  boxes  of  flowers,  its  striped 
awnings  and  its  small  groom  in  livery,  reminded  her  un- 
pleasantly of  the  past  and  she  was  about  to  hurry  on, 
when  the  thought  struck  her  that  Madame  Cartier 
might  give  her  something  to  do  —  the  thought  was 
distasteful  to  her,  but  she  was  desperate  and  she  went 
in. 

Madame  Cartier,  a  large  woman  in  a  tight  fitting 
black  gown,  was  sitting  in  the  front  of  the  shop  when 
Doris  entered.  She  greeted  her  effusively,  with  a 
deferential  expression  which  changed  quickly  to  one 


314  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

of  astonishment,  as  Doris  told  her  her  business  and 
came  to  a  decision  at  once.  She  was  a  kindly  and 
good-natured  woman,  who  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  taking  very  strong  likes  and  dislikes  to  her  cus- 
tomers which  owing  to  her  vogue  she  did  not  always 
conceal,  and  she  had  liked  Doris.  People  would  be 
coming  back  to  town  soon  she  thought  and  she  would 
have  to  engage  additional  salesladies  and  where  would 
she  find  one  with  Doris's  manners,  good  looks  and  good 
taste.  Doris  could  hardly  keep  back  her  tears  when 
she  realized  that,  for  a  time  at  least,  the  suspense  and 
disappointments  of  the  past  month  were  over.  Her 
wages  were  not  munificent,  but  she  could  manage  to 
live  on  them  and  she  set  to  work  with  a  determination 
to  make  herself  indispensable  to  Madame  Cartier  and 
the  latter  soon  had  cause  to  congratulate  herself. 
Doris,  with  her  evident  desire  to  please,  her  capacity, 
her  tact  and  her  innate  skill  in  such  matters,  soon  made 
herself  invaluable  and  at  the  end  of  two  months  Madame 
Cartier,  to  show  her  appreciation,  increased  her  salary. 

Soon  after  this,  however,  when  they  were  standing 
one  day  together  in  the  front  of  the  shop,  which  for 
the  moment  was  empty,  a  motor  stopped  at  the  curb 
and  Pandolfi  emerged  from  it.  He  crossed  the  pave- 
ment quickly  and  came  in.  Doris  never  knew  how  he 
learned  where  she  was. 

"  I  would  like  to  speak  to  this  lady,"  he  said  to 
Madame  Cartier,  indicating  Doris,  and  as  the  former 
withdrew,  he  added  in  a  low  voice : 

"  Look  here  —  I  want  you  to  come  back.     Wait  a 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  315 

moment,"  he  added,  before  she  could  answer  him.  "  I 
am  sorry  for  what  I  did ;  I  promise  to  control  myself 
in  the  future." 

"  No,  Ernesto,  it  is  impossible." 

"  Don't  you  believe  what  I  say  —  that  I  will  be  able 
to,"  he  asked,  looking  at  her  almost  pleadingly  with 
his  bold  and  handsome  eyes. 

"It  isn't  that,  Ernesto  —  it's  that  I've  done  with 
the  past,  I  am  going  to  live  by  my  own  efforts  and 
honesty." 

"  But  you  can't  earn  your  own  living.  Suppose  they 
shouldn't  want  you  here  any  longer,  what  would  you 
do?" 

'*  Find  something  else." 

"  Suppose  you  couldn't,  did  you  find  it  so  easy  before 
you  came  here?  " 

"  It's  no  use,  Ernesto,  I  shall  not  do  it." 

The  old  impatient  and  threatening  look  began  to 
come  into  his  face. 

"  I  usually  get  what  I  want,"  he  said,  "  and  that 
is  final  is  it?  " 

"Yes,  it  is  final." 

Pandolfi  turned  and  went  out  and  Doris  sat  down. 
A  sense  of  physical  weakness  overcame  her  for  a  mo- 
ment and  a  feeling  of  disgust  and  loathing  at  the 
thought  of  what  he  had  once  been  to  her. 

Pandolfi's  change  toward  her  was  due  to  two  rea- 
sons. In  the  first  place  Doris's  announcement  that  she 
had  sent  Goeffrey  his  letter,  had  roused  in  him  a 
tempest  of  resentment  and  fear;  fear  lest  the  letter 


316  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

might  reveal  things  which  only  he  and  Davidge  knew, 
and  resentment  against  her  for  being  the  possible  means 
of  such  a  revelation.  He  knew  that  if  the  true  story 
of  Davidge's  failure  should  be  discovered,  his  career 
would  probably  end  abruptly  in  prison,  and  the  send- 
ing of  the  letter  had  come  at  a  moment  when  he  was 
engaged  in  a  campaign  against  a  certain  stock  which 
if  successful,  would  enable  him  to  leave  the  street  per- 
manently. When  this  was  accomplished,  he  had  planned 
to  go  abroad,  never  to  return.  Pandolfi  had  spent 
many  anxious  days  after  Davidge's  failure.  Goef- 
frey's  letter  had  come  and  he  had  secured  it  and  lost 
it  again  inexplicably  and  this  had  added  to  his  ap- 
prehensions, but  the  days  had  passed  and  he  had 
heard  nothing  to  indicate  its  discovery.  Davidge  too 
seemed  to  have  been  able  to  elude  the  police  completely, 
and  when  the  excitement  following  his  failure  had 
abated,  he  had  begun  to  plan  his  final  stroke  which 
would  be  the  last;  and  the  terrific  effect  of  Doris's  an- 
nouncement on  him  was  due  to  the  fact  that  if  the 
letter  contained  what  he  feared,  it  meant  the  ruin  of 
all  his  plans.  He  saw  his  carefully  erected  edifice 
crumbling  about  him.  Nothing  took  place  to  show 
that  the  letter  had  revealed  anything  and  as  his  ap- 
prehensions lessened,  regret  for  his  treatment  of  Doris 
awoke.  In  his  way,  he  was  fond  of  her,  and  after  her 
disappearance  he  had  realized  that  she  had  fiHed  a 
larger  place  in  his  lawless  and  unbridled  life  than  he 
had  dreamed. 

His  confidence  and  sense  of  security  had  returned 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  317 

and  he  wished  to  find  her  and  get  her  to  return.  If  he 
had  known  that  Goeffrey's  letter  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  the  powerful  and  formidable  Storey,  he  would 
have  faced  the  future  with  less  courage. 

From  that  day  he  began  to  persecute,  to  pursue  her, 
to  make  her  position  intolerable  at  Madame  Cartier's. 
He  would  call  repeatedly,  telephone  messages  were 
sent,  notes  delivered  and  a  variety  of  petty  annoy- 
ances which  first  made  Doris  the  object  of  good- 
natured  ridicule  which  she  accepted  as  best  she  could, 
in  spite  of  her  humiliation,  but  which  finally  ended  in 
indignation  at  his  persistent  malice. 

Madame  Cartier  finally  said  to  her,  "  Something 
must  be  done.  The  man's  a  fool  to  try  to  win  a  woman 
by  such  tricks,  why  don't  you  have  him  arrested?  He's 
demoralizing  everything." 

"  He  wants  to  drive  me  away  from  here,"  Doris  an- 
swered. "  You've  been  very  good  to  me,  but  I  under- 
stand of  course  that  I  can't  stay  if  he  keeps  on  annoy- 
ing you  in  this  way." 

"  It's  a  shame,"  said  Madame  Cartier,  "  and  he's 
so  masterful.  He  knows  that  we  don't  like  his  coming 
here,  but  he  doesn't  care  what  we  think  about  it."  And 
after  a  moment  she  added,  suddenly,  "  Why  don't  you 
go  back  to  him,  my  dear?  " 

Doris  blushed  crimson  — and  Madame  Cartier  no- 
ticing it  went  on.  "You're  surprised,  aren't  you? 
Well,  he  told  me  about  it  the  other  day." 

Doris  flushed  again,  this  time  with  mingled  feelings 
of  anger  and  despair  and  humiliation.  Anger  at  Pan- 


318  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

dolfi's  action  and  despair  at  the  thought  that  she  must 
go  away;  at  the  thought  that  she  must  face  again  the 
task  of  looking  for  work.  But  it  was  imperative;  she 
must  find  some  other  place  where  she  could  hide  her- 
self and  cease  to  be  reminded  of  the  past.  Now  that 
Madame  Cartier  knew,  she  felt  that  it  was  impossible 
for  her  to  stay. 

Although  Madame  Cartier  regretted  losing  her, 
she  was  relieved  when  she  realized  what  Pan- 
dolfi's  purpose  was,  and  from  what  she  had  seen  of  him, 
she  believed  that  he  would  not  be  turned  aside  from  it; 
so  Doris  found  herself  again  without  work  and  again 
began  the  dreary  task  of  looking  for  it.  The  story 
of  the  weeks  that  ensued  until  the  night  on  which  she 
finally  sought  aid  of  Goeffrey,  was  one  of  failure,  dis- 
appointments, rebuffs  and  increasing  poverty. 

She  began  to  fall  behind  in  the  payment  for  the 
room  she  occupied  in  her  lodging  house,  and  on  that  day 
she  had  been  forced  to  leave  it,  her  landlady  refusing 
to  let  her  take  the  few  things  she  possessed  with  her  — 
and  indeed  it  would  not  have  mattered.  She  had  no 
money  to  pay  for  another  and  nothing  with  which  to 
buy  food  even,  and  she  had  walked  the  streets  that  day 
hungry,  until  the  cold  and  the  storm  of  the  night  had 
driven  her  to  seek  help  of  him.  She  felt  sure  that  Irma 
or  any  of  her  old  friends  would  have  helped  her,  but 
she  had  long  before  determined  to  cut  loose  from  them 
and  there  was  something  in  her  nature  invincible  and 
stubborn  which  would  have  made  her  prefer  to  starve 
than  to  yield  from  her  fixed  determination. 


CHAPTER  XXH 

THE  city  waking  under  the  sharp  touch  of  winter  took 
on  another  aspect  —  an  aspect,  glittering,  vivid  and 
active.  The  air  rid  of  the  dusty  haze  that  had  hung  in 
it  during  the  hot  season,  became  crystal  clear.  Life 
quickened,  the  blood  ran  dancing,  crowds  filled  the  pave- 
ments and  suddenly  as  if  by  magic,  the  streets  were 
massed  with  vehicles.  Day  by  day  the  thousands  which 
had  been  driven  away  from  the  city  by  the  intolerable 
heat  —  intolerable  for  those  who  do  not  have  to  bear  it, 
returned  by  train  and  boat  to  take  up  life  in  it  again. 
The  town  became  sharp,  flashing,  brilliant  and  noisy 
and  over  it  a  vivid  sky  stretched,  fleeced  with  milk  white 
clouds. 

Pandolfi,  who  after  losing  trace  of  Doris,  had  gone 
abroad  for  two  months,  had  returned  and  was  hard  at 
work  again  carefully  maturing  his  plans  for  the  great 
coup  which  was  to  mark  the  close  of  his  career  in  the 
Street.  Very  quietly  for  some  months  he  had  been  buy- 
ing, through  various  brokers,  the  stock  which  it  was  nec- 
essary to  get  possession  of  before  opening  his  campaign 
and  they  had  had  instructions  to  continue  to  do  so  dur- 
ing his  absence  —  but  on  his  return  he  found  that  things 
had  not  gone  as  well  as  he  had  expected.  He  had  con- 
fided his  plans  to  no  one.  Like  an  inventor  who,  fearful 
of  the  discovery  of  his  secret,  has  the  various  parts  of 

319 


320  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

his  machine  made  by  different  hands,  assembling  them 
himself,  Pandolfi  had  had  his  brokers  working  in  igno- 
rance of  his  general  plan  and  of  each  other's  part  in  it, 
and  yet  at  times  it  had  seemed  to  him  of  late  that  some 
secret  opposition  against  him  was  making  itself  felt,  as 
if  he  were  being  watched  and  hindered  by  some  hidden 
opponent  who  had  divined  his  purpose  and  had  deter- 
mined to  frustrate  it.  After  a  time,  however,  the  ob- 
stacles which  had  presented  themselves,  whether  by  acci- 
dent or  design,  disappeared  and  he  forgot  about  them. 

Storey  too  had  returned  to  town  and  it  was  then  that 
the  secret  opposition  which  Pandolfi  had  thought  he  had 
noticed,  and  which  had  caused  him  some  misgiving,  had 
disappeared. 

Storey's  suspicions  of  Pandolfi's  connection  with 
Davidge's  failure,  had  been  confirmed  by  the  letter  Goef- 
frey  had  brought  him.  In  it  Davidge  with  surprising 
lucidity  had  explained  that  Pandolfi  had  induced  him  to 
embark  on  certain  speculations.  Davidge  had  supplied 
money  from  time  to  time  and  as  the  apparent  difficulties 
of  their  position  became  greater,  and  still  larger  sums 
were  needed,  he  began  hypothecating  securities  which  he 
had  no  right  to  use.  He  admitted  that  he  had  not  told 
Pandolfi  how  he  was  getting  the  money  he  was  giving 
him,  until  at  the  end  when  after  a  final  demand  for  more, 
he  had  appropriated  the  securities  which  made  up  Goef- 
frey's  fortune  with  Pandolfi's  knowledge  and  approval. 
Davidge  had  apparently  realized  at  the  last  that  he  had 
been  tricked  by  Pandolfi  and  had  written  Storey  with 
the  hope  that  in  Goeffrey's  case  at  least,  where  Pandolfi 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  321 

had  been  a  party  to  a  criminal  conspiracy,  he  might  be 
forced  to  make  restitution. 

Upon  careful  consideration,  Storey  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  any  sort  of  criminal  action  against  Pan- 
dolfi  or  any  suit  to  recover,  would  be  useless.  The  state- 
ments in  Davidge's  letter  might  be  easily  proved  to  be 
those  of  an  unbalanced  mind  and  he  felt  sure  that  Pan- 
dolfi  was  too  shrewd  to  leave  any  traces  which  might 
be  used  as  evidence  against  him.  He  determined  there- 
fore to  wait  his  opportunity  and  to  make  use  of  surer 
and  more  powerful  weapons.  The  chance  presented  it- 
self sooner  than  he  expected.  Using  the  resources  of  his 
widespread  and  powerful  interests,  he  learned  that  Pan- 
dolfi  was  engaged,  through  different  brokers,  in  a  series 
of  maneuvers, and  piecing  together  the  various  fragments 
of  information  he  had  received,  Pandolfi's  whole  scheme 
was  soon  made  clear  to  him.  He  saw  what  stock  Pan- 
dolfi  must  have  before  putting  his  scheme  into  execution, 
and  as  he  did  not  wish  him  to  act  until  his  trap  had  been 
laid  for  him,  he  entrusted  to  one  of  his  subordinates  a 
plan  with  which  to  delay  Pandolfi  until  he  should  be 
ready  for  him.  Upon  Storey's  return,  finding  that  his 
instructions  had  been  carried  out  to  his  satisfaction,  he 
quietly  waited  for  the  opening  of  Pandolfi's  campaign. 

Martel's  death  had  shocked  his  wife  so  terribly,  that 
for  a  time  her  resentment  against  him  was  forgotten. 
She  blamed  herself  for  it,  and  as  an  act  of  expiation  she 
lived  for  some  months  at  Fernleigh,  carrying  out  his 
commands  precisely  as  if  he  had  been  alive.  It  was  not 
until  six  weeks  later  that  she  had  heard  of  Richard's 


322  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

marriage  and  this  too  had  been  a  bitter  blow  to  her.  It 
was  true  that  she  had  left  town  without  letting  him  know 
and  had  not  written  him,  but  under  the  circumstances 
that  could  hardly  have  been  expected.  But  even  ad- 
mitting that  he  had  been  piqued,  it  was  hardly  possible 
that  he  could  have  arranged  a  marriage  with  Mrs.  Ala- 
dine  in  so  short  a  time.  She  did  not  know  then  that  it 
had  taken  place  the  very  night  of  Martel's  death.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  he  must  have  been  playing  a  double 
game,  that  he  had  been  deceiving  her  deliberately  and 
she  suffered  a  humiliation  so  profound  that  it  seemed  as 
if  she  could  not  live  under  it.  In  the  midst  of  this  de- 
pression, however,  a  letter  came  to  her  from  Richard, 
written  in  Paris,  a  long  and  passionate  letter.  He 
had,  he  said,  taken  the  step  he  did  to  save  her.  It 
seemed  the  only  course.  Bancroft  and  Goeffrey  had 
discovered  certain  things  and  informed  him  that  they 
intended  opening  Martel's  eyes.  He  begged  them  not 
to,  offered  to  make  any  sacrifice,  but  they  were  immov- 
able. Finally  he  had  asked!  for  three  days'  grace  which 
they  agreed  to.  He  was  desperate.  Somehow  he  must 
save  her.  That  night  he  did  not  sleep  but  toward  the 
end  of  it,  like  a  flash,  the  thought  came  to  him  that  he 
must  marry  Mrs.  Aladine.  If  he  could  do  that  he  knew 
that  the  regard  that  Bancroft  and  Goeffrey  had  for  her 
would  make  it  impossible  for  them  to  say  one  word  to 
Martel.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  seen  so  little 
of  her,  certain  circumstance  had  made  it  plain  to  him 
that  she  was  far  from  indifferent  to  him.  He  proposed 
to  her,  was  accepted  and  finding  her  infatuation  for  him 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  323 

so  great,  that  he  felt  that  he  could  do  so,  he  suggested 
an  immediate  marriage,  giving  some  plausible  reasons 
which  she  accepted  without  question,  agreeing  to  tell  no 
one  until  it  was  an  accomplished  fact.  He  was  forced 
to  do  it  because  if  Bancroft  got  an  inkling  of  it,  he  would 
have  moved  heaven  and  earth  to  prevent  it. 

Richard  begged  Mrs.  Martel  not  to  blame  him  for 
the  apparent  heartlessness  of  his  action.  He  respected 
and  admired  his  wife  greatly  and  hoped  and  prayed  that 
he  had  not  wronged  her  by  practicing  such  a  deception 
—  but  his  one  overmastering  idea  at  that  time,  was  to 
save  Mrs.  Martel;  he  knew  that  this  could  be  accom- 
plished in  no  other  way  and  he  was  ready  to  make  any 
sacrifice. 

But  the  tragedy  of  the  situation  was  revealed  to  him 
when,  after  reaching  Paris,  he  read  of  Martel's  death ; 
saw  that  it  had  taken  place  on  the  very  night  of  his  mar- 
riage and  had  he  waited  even  one  day,  it  would  have  been 
unnecessary.  When  he  realized  this,  he  wrote,  he  was 
in  despair,  he  felt  like  making  away  with  himself  from 
pure  chagrin  and  savage  disappointment  —  he  thought 
of  returning  to  her  but  saw  at  once  that  that  was  im- 
possible and  finally  now  that  he  could  safely  do  so,  he 
was  writing  to  her  to  explain  a  thing  which  she  must 
have  of  necessity  utterly  misunderstood  and  to  tell  her 
that  he  had  never  changed,  never  could,  that  he  longed 
to  be  with  her,  and  that  he  had  been  separated  from  her 
by  the  crudest  fate  that  ever  man  suffered  under,  and 
that  if  it  should  be  only  for  once,  only  to  say  good-by, 
he  must  see  her  on  his  return. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Even  Richard,  who  had  learned  so  well  how  to  play 
on  the  credulity  of  women,  wrote  certain  portions  of 
this  tale  with  some  misgiving ;  but  as  Mrs.  Martel  read 
it  a  wave  of  tenderness  swept  through  her ;  it  gave  her  an 
opportunity  to  believe  again  in  the  man  she  loved  and 
she  grasped  it  eagerly.  He  had  sacrificed  himself  for 
her.  How  noble  of  him.  She  felt  she  must  not  be  less 
so,  that  she  must  accept  the  inevitable  and  refuse  to  see 
him,  and  she  experienced  a  peculiarly  self-satisfying 
sense  of  lofty  well  being  as  she  determined  on  this  re- 
nunciation. And  this  resolve  seemed  to  render  her  se- 
cluded life  at  Fernleigh  unnecessary  —  as  if  she  had 
given  Martel  a  promise  at  last  that  she  knew  that  she 
could  keep  and  as  the  cold  weather  approached  and  her 
existence  became  more  irksome,  she  too  returned  to 
town. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Richard  Whitely's  great  house  over- 
looking the  park,  was  open  again.  They  had  arrived 
at  the  time  Mr.  Banfroft  had  expected  and  Goeffrey, 
calling  one  afternoon,  found  Constance  at  home.  He 
immediately  laid  Doris's  case  before  her  and  as  he  had 
expected,  she  promised  to  find  a  position  for  her  at  once. 
On  Goeffrey's  telling  her  that  Doris  had  been  at  his 
rooms  the  night  Constance  had  come  there  with  Nina, 
Constance  said  that  she  remembered  her. 

"  She  was  very  pretty,  a  blonde.  I  remember  her 
well,"  she  said.  "  She  didn't  seem  to  belong  there 
exactly." 

"  She  didn't,"  Goeffrey  replied,  "  she  is  a  lady,  born 
and  bred,  only  she's  had  hard  luck." 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  325 

"  And  what  about  yourself?  "  Constance  asked,  "  and 
Nina.  I  have  had  no  letters  from  her  since  I  went  away, 
but  I  hardly  expected  any  —  she  never  writes  to  any- 
one,"—  and  she  added  after  he  had  told  her  of  the  break- 
ing of  their  engagement,  "  Poor  Goeffrey,  and  has  it 
made  you  very  unhappy?  " 

"  Awfully  —  at  first  —  but  one  gets  used  to  any- 
thing, I  suppose." 

"  One  can't  say  that  she  treated  you  badly,  exactly, 
« —  and  yet  she  had  a  little  of  her  own.  If  she  had  been 
really  genuine  about  it  she  would  have  been  willing  to 
begin  on  that,  I  should  think,  with  what  you  could  earn. 
Do  you  still  love  her,  Goeffrey?  I  mean,  would  you 
marry  her  now  if  you  could?  " 

Goeffrey  waited  for  a  moment  without  answering. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  last.     "  It's  all  over,  I  think." 

"  The  people  who  suffer  in  this  world  are  the  kindly, 
sincere  and  unselfish  ones,  Goeffrey.  Such  people  are 
too  simple,  too  sincere,  ever  to  unlearn  the  lesson  that 
if  one  is  honest  and  does  one's  duty,  all  will  be  well. 
Such  people  wish  to  be  happy  and  to  make  others  so, 
but  the  other  kind,  the  selfish  ones,  do  not  need  happiness ; 
they  want  other  things,  material  things  and  to  get  them 
they  will  be  ruthless,  trampling  on  the  rights  of  others 
in  order  to  obtain  them.  If  Nina  is  like  that,  it  is  lucky 
for  you  that  it  has  ended  as  it  has." 

Goeffrey  knew  that  she  was  thinking  of  Richard. 

Constance  was  one  of  those  people  who  have  an  in- 
herent faith  in  the  possibility  of  happiness  for  them- 
selves and  others  and  the  realization  that  her  marriage 


326  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

had  not  brought  it  to  her  —  made  her  disappointment 
all  the  keener  because  of  that  belief.  She  felt  that, 
while  she  had  not  found  it,  somewhere  it  was  waiting 
for  her,  but  that  now  it  was  too  late.  After  a  moment 
she  said: 

"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Storey  ?  " 

"  Only  once,"  Goeffrey  answered.  "  He  has  been 
away,  I  think  —  but  I  may  see  him  almost  any  day." 

She  paused  again  and  said,  "  When  you  see  him  tell 
him  that  —  that  I  — "  and  she  stopped  —  "  never 
mind,"  she  added,  "  it  is  nothing,  perhaps  I  shall  see  him 
myself." 

Richard  had  accepted  with  calmness  the  realization 
that  he  and  his  wife  were  not  suited  to  each  other.  He 
had  taken  his  place  as  her  husband  with  all  the  ease  and 
luxury  which  accompanied  it  with  much  complacency 
and  a  determination  never  to  fail  toward  her  in  those 
graces  and  accomplishments  which  could  make  him  so 
delightful  when  he  chose  to  use  them  —  but  to  his  sur- 
prise Constance  seemed  not  to  be  satisfied  with  them, 
demanded  something  from  him  which  he  could  not  give 
her  —  could  not  have  given  any  woman  and  what  it  was 
he  had  only  a  vague  idea  —  a  certain  estrangement  en- 
sued with  the  result  that  he  resumed  his  pleasures  a 
little  sooner  perhaps  than  he  would  otherwise  have  done 
! —  and  on  his  return  from  abroad,  he  began  at  once  to 
lay  siege  to  Mrs.  Martel. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  she  struggled  bravely 
against  him.  She  felt  that  if  she  granted  the  one  in- 
terview he  had  asked  for,  she  was  lost  and  she  resisted 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  327 

until  he  broke  her  resistance  down.  After  that  she  re- 
sisted no  longer. 

And  so  at  length  in  the  shadows  of  the  buildings,  in 
the  roar  and  turmoil  of  the  city  —  the  puppets  in  our 
drama,  moved  like  marionettes  by  the  strings  of  their 
loves,  their  ambitions,  their  hatreds  or  their  hopes,  were 
assembled  again.  Pandolfi  was  ready  to  begin  his  cam- 
paign. Storey,  feeling  always  alone  amid  his  multi- 
farious details,  because  of  Constance's  marriage, 
and  yet  keeping  always  a  sharp  eye  turned  toward  Pan- 
dolfi, waiting  to  trap  him  when  the  time  should  come. 
Constance  alone  too  with  her  regrets  —  Richard  re- 
newing his  friendship  with  Mrs.  Martel,  Mr.  Bancroft 
implacable  and  untiring  already  on  his  track  —  Doris 
trying,  in  the  discharge  of  her  new  found  duties,  to 
live  only  in  the  present,  and  Goeffrey  accepting  as  phil- 
osophically as  possible  the  routine  which  had  become 
necessary. 

Last  of  all  Nina  had  returned  and  had  taken  a  small 
apartment  with  Aunt  Mary  and  close  on  her  heels  came 
Mr.  Arthur  Vernay.  Vernay  had  decided  to  marry. 
His  establishment  was  not  quite  complete.  He  must 
have  a  wife  to  lie  between  those  wonderful  fine  sheets 
of  his  with  their  embroidered  monograms.  She  must 
be  tall,  elegant  and  slender  —  and  as  Vernay  had  too 
little  imagination  and  too  much  good  sense  ever  to  wish 
for  the  unattainable,  it  was  probable  that  he  would  get 
what  he  wanted. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WHEN  Goeffrey  had  told  Constance  that  his  love  for 
Nina  was  over,  he  had  attributed  his  cure  to  the  alleviat- 
ing influence  of  time  and  he  did  not  realize  that  his  as- 
sociation with  Doris  had  been  a  more  potent  factor. 
She  had  in  reality  always  appealed  to  him  more 
strongly,  but  the  social  gulf  which  seemed  to  separate 
them  had  prevented  him  from  ever  acknowledging  to 
himself  that  he  could  think  of  wishing  to  marry  her. 

Constance  had  fortunately  been  able  to  find  a  place 
for  her  at  once,  in  the  executive  department  of  one  of 
her  charitable  institutions,  and  Doris  had  begun  her  work 
with  her  usual  capable  energy,  glad  to  find  herself  oc- 
cupied again  after  her  weeks  of  poverty  and  priva- 
tion. 

She  had  thought  at  first  of  moving  to  the  quarter  in 
which  her  office  lay,  but  at  Goeffrey's  earnest  solicitations 
—  and  because  it  was  her  secret  wish,  she  stayed  on  in 
the  room  she  had  engaged,  close  to 'where  he  lived.  She 
had  intended  too,  never  to  go  to  see  him  as  she  had  done 
before,  because  now  that  she  had  entered  into  her  new 
life,  a  life  of  honesty  and  self-respect,  she  wished,  as 
a  sign  of  this  change,  to  take  up  its  conventions  —  but 
it  was  not  easy.  Goeffrey  came  for  her  every  night  so 
that  they  might  dine  together  and  they  found  their 
companionship  so  pleasant  that  it  was  hard  to  part 

328 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  329 

as  soon  as  they  had  finished.  She  could  not  ask  him  to 
her  room,  and  the  parlor  in  the  house  in  which  she  lived 
and  where  lodgers  were  supposed  to  receive  their  friends, 
seemed  impossible  to  them  —  so,  it  grew  to  be  their 
custom  to  repair  to  his  rooms  and  to  sit  there  talking 
and  smoking  until  bed  time.  They  were  as  much  alone 
in  the  city,  as  if  they  had  been  in  fact  living  in  some 
isolated  place,  and  at  night  in  the  seclusion  of  Goef- 
frey's sitting-room,  with  its  blazing  fire,  there  was  some- 
thing sweet  to  them  about  this  isolation  which  they  would 
have  been  loathe  to  change.  Only  Doris  knew  that  that 
change  must  come,  and  she  saw  Goeffrey's  unconscious 
love  for  her  develop  with  feelings  of  intense  happiness, 
which  at  night  often  changed  to  a  bitter  despair  wet- 
ting her  pillow  with  tears.  How  it  would  end  she  did 
not  know  except  that  at  last  she  must  either  confess 
to  him  or  go  away  without  one  word  of  explanation. 
But  in  the  meantime  their  intercourse  was  so  precious 
to  her,  that  she  could  not  bear  to  give  it  up  and  she 
drifted  on  trying  not  to  think  of  the  end. 

At  night  after  coming  to  Goeffrey's  place,  their  talk 
turned  at  last  almost  invariably  to  Paris,  the  place 
abroad  which  in  common  they  knew  the  best.  Their 
solitude  and  the  unaccustomed  lives  which  both  were 
leading,  developed  in  them  a  feeling  that  they  were 
living  amid  alien  surroundings  and  thei-r  talk  was  like 
that  of  two  exiles  longing  for  their  own  country.  They 
spoke  nearly  always  in  French,  recalled  the  smallest  de- 
tails of  their  life  in  Paris,  and  its  glamour,  which  con- 
tinually grew  on  them  as  they  looked  at  it  through  the 


330  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

rosy  atmosphere  of  the  past,  made  it  seem  to  them  like 
their  promised  land  —  perfect  and  beautiful. 

A  poetic  and  ideal  companionship  grew  up  between 
them,  developing  ever  into  something  more  tender  and 
powerful.  During  the  day  each  worked  as  if  in  a  dream, 
thinking  of  the  other,  the  incidents  of  the  night  before, 
and  waited  eagerly  for  the  hour  to  come  when  they 
could  be  together  again.  They  had  drifted  into  that 
mystic  land  of  love  full  of  sweet,  poignant  and  unutter- 
able sensations.  Life  had  been  transmuted  into  an  in- 
effable dream,  full  of  golden  flashes,  the  glow  of  lights 
and  sounds  full  of  sweetness. 

Many  months  had  passed  and  it  was  toward  the  end 
of  winter.  One  Sunday  after  a  long  walk  in  the  park, 
they  had  returned  to  Goeffrey's  rooms.  The  day  had 
been  unusually  mild  and  the  softness  of  the  air  sug- 
gested the  coming  of  Spring,  the  awakening  of  nature. 
They  had  been  very  silent  during  their  walk,  but  they 
were  unconscious  of  it.  A  mutual  preoccupation  ab- 
sorbed them,  they  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  something, 
hardly  conscious  of  what  it  was,  yet  wishing  for  it  with 
hushed  breaths,  in  fear  and  in  longing. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  Goeffrey  unlocked  his  door. 
The  fire  had  died  down  and  only  a  faint  glow  came  from 
it.  In  the  fading  light  which  came  from  the  window, 
the  room  had  a  hushed  and  quiet  air,  somnolent  and 
still.  Doris  sat  down  on  the  sofa  before  the  fire  and 
Goeffrey  going  to  the  window  stood  there  looking  out. 
The  heavens  seemed  very  high;  very  high  the  small 
white  clouds  floating  slowly  across  it  bathed  in  the  last 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  331 

light  of  the  sun.  How  beautiful  it  was,  how  beautiful 
life  was  as  they  had  been  living  it,  how  wonderful.  He 
went  to  the  sofa,  sat  down  beside  her  and  suddenly  his 
arms  were  around  her  —  they  were  pressing  each  other 
in  a  passionate,  a  perfect  embrace  —  their  lips  met  — 
"  I  love  you,  I  love  you,"  he  breathed,  his  heart  beating 
so  that  he  could  hardly  speak.  "  I  have  always,  always 
loved  you."  How  sweet  her  kisses  were.  How  wonder- 
fully sweet.  He  felt  tears  on  her  cheeks  and  kissed 
them  away.  "  Why  do  you  cry  ?  "  "  Because  I  am 
happy."  "Do  you  love  me?"  "With  all  my  heart, 
all  my  soul.  Oh,  Goeffrey,  I  have  loved  you  always. 
When  I  came  to  see  you  that  first  day,  it  was  because 
I  loved  you."  "  And  I  you."  "  But  I  never  knew  — 
kiss  me  again  and  again,  I  love  you  —  I  love  you." 

And  in  the  ecstasy  of  their  embraces,  they  sat  there 
they  knew  not  how  long  —  the  fire  died  out,  night  came, 
it  grew  cold  —  but  they  did  not  notice.  Deep  in  the 
rhapsody  of  love  they  were  indifferent  to  material 
things,  it  sufficed  them  —  darkness  and  cold  were  as 
nothing,  love  warmed  and  lighted  them. 

But  when  they  parted  at  last,  Doris  wept  again, 
softly  to  herself,  but  as  if  her  heart  would  break,  and 
in  the  last  passionate  kiss  which  she  gave  him,  there 
was  something  so  despairing,  that  it  seemed  as  if  she 
were  bidding  him  good-by  forever,  and  Goeffrey  tossed 
on  his  bed  that  night,  torn  between  emotions  of  happi- 
ness and  strange  forebodings. 

The  next  day  after  interminable  hours  at  the  office, 
he  hurried  to  his  rooms  to  make  ready  to  go  to  her.  As 


332  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

he  came  in  he  saw  an  envelope  addressed  to  him,  lying 
on  his  table.  No  one  could  have  put  it  there  but  Doris 
• —  she  had  a  key  and  sometimes  would  come  there  to 
wait  for  him  if  he  happened  to  be  late.  He  opened  it 
with  a  feeling  of  terror. 

"  I  must  not  see  you  again,  Goeffrey  —  I  have  been 
trying  to  be  good,  but  I  have  been  dishonest  to  you 
whom  I  love  with  all  my  heart.  I  am  a  wicked  woman, 
Goeffrey.  I  cannot  marry  you,  and  when  you  know, 
you  would  not  wish  me  to.  I  have  no  right  to  marry 
anyone  except  Ernesto.  Does  that  make  it  clear  to 
you?  You  have  meant  so  much  to  me  that  I  could  not 
bear  to  give  you  up  until  I  had  to,  and  now  that  time 
has  come.  I  made  you  love  me  perhaps,  and  there  I 
wronged  you,  but  I  will  not  wrong  you  further,  and 
so  good-by.  Good-by,  dear,  dear  Goeffrey  —  I  shall 
always  love  you.  As  I  write  the  tears  blind  me  so  that 
I  can  hardly  see.  Good-by  —  I  am  going  away." 

Goeffrey  seized  his  hat  and  rushed  like  a  madman  to 
Doris's  house.  She  had  gone  that  morning,  leaving  no 
address. 

How  he  spent  that  night  he  never  clearly  knew.  He 
had  a  vague  recollection  of  being  in  the  streets,  in  his 
rooms,  in  the  streets  again  and  at  last  of  letting  himself 
in  just  as  day  was  breaking.  If  he  had  not  had  fixed 
in  his  mind  an  unswerving  determination  to  find  her, 
he  would  have  killed  himself. 

He  did  not  go  to  the  office  that  day.  After  making 
himself  some  coffee  —  he  had  never  thought  of  dinner 
the  night  before  —  he  went  to  the  building  in  which  the 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  333 

offices  of  the  institution  were,  in  which  she  was  employed, 
but  she  had  not  been  there.  Suddenly  he  thought  of 
Constance  and  rushing  uptown,  rang  her  bell,  a  little 
after  ten.  The  servant  at  the  door  informed  him  that 
Mrs.  Whitely  was  not  well,  but  that  he  would  inquire 
whether  she  would  see  him  or  not  and  showing  Goeffrey 
into  the  small  parlor,  he  left  him  there. 

Goeffrey  sat  down  and  waited.  It  was  in  this  room, 
with  its  antique  paneling,  its  Dutch  paintings,  with 
the  old  French  clock  ticking  faintly  on  the  mantel- 
piece, that  he  had  said  good-by  to  Nina  on  the  day  that 
Pandolfi  had  surprised  them  with  the  news  of  her  father's 
disappearance  and  it  was  here  too  that  he  had  met 
her  again.  How  little  it  interested  him  now,  except  for 
a  feeling  of  thankfulness  that  it  had  finally  ended  as  it 
had  so  that  Doris  could  come  into  his  life.  It  was  here 
too  that  Constance  had  surprised  them;  Storey,  Mr. 
Bancroft,  Nina  and  himself  as  they  were  discussing 
Richard.  How  far  away  it  all  seemed,  how  distant 
and  vague  compared  with  the  desires  and  thoughts 
which  absorbed  him. 

The  servant  returning,  led  him  upstairs  to  Con- 
stance's sitting-room.  She  was  half  lying  in  a  chaise 
longue  by  a  window  which  overlooked  the  park.  She 
looked  ill  to  Goeffrey  and  in  answer  to  his  inquiries  said 
that  she  had  taken  cold. 

"  But  it  is  nothing,"  she  said,  "  I  am  very  strong 
you  know,  except  in  that  one  way.  My  chest,  they 
always  settle  there.  Get  a  chair,  Goeffrey,  and  tell  me 
what  you  want." 


334  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Oh,  Constance,"  said  Goeff  rey,  "  I  want  Doris. 
She  has  gone  away  • —  I  must  find  her.  Do  you  know 
where  she  is?  Have  you  heard  from  her?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  know  where  she  is  and 
I  have  seen  her."  And  as  Goeffrey  with  an  impetuous 
movement  seemed  about  to  interrupt  her,  she  laid  a  hand 
on  one  of  his  and  said  gently,  "  Wait,  until  I  have 
finished. 

"  She  came  to  see  me  yesterday  morning.  She  said 
she  had  written  you.  Did  you  understand  what  she 
meant  when  she  said  that  she  had  no  right  to  marry 
anyone  except  Pandolfi?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  Goeffrey  answered  excitedly.  "  I 
suppose  so,  but  I  don't  care,  I  want  her." 

And  Constance  said  again,  "  Wait." 

"  She  came  here  and  told  me  everything.  She  had 
lived  with  Pandolfi  for  a  long  time  as  his  mistress.  No 
punishment  could  be  too  terrible  for  a  man  like  that, 
Goeffrey.  He  deceived  her  by  means  of  a  pretended 
marriage.  She  had  lived  in  London  without  money  or 
friends,  trying  to  support  herself,  and  when  he  came  and 
offered  her  what  he  did,  she  had  about  given  up  the 
struggle.  They  lived  for  nearly  a  year  in  London  and 
it  was  not  until  business  made  it  necessary  for  him  to 
come  here,  that  he  told  her.  She  tried  to  kill  herself 
and  he  promised  really  to  marry  her,  but  failed  to  keep 
his  promise.  What  could  the  poor  child  do,  Goeffrey? 
She  had  had  a  slight  experience  on  the  stage  and  when 
they  came  here,  he  got  her  an  engagement  in  a  minor 
part,  partly  to  give  her  something  to  do  and  partly  to 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  335 

conceal  their  real  relationship,  which  she  insisted  on. 
She  says  that  from  the  first  time  she  met  you,  the  hatred 
which  she  had  for  her  life  became  unbearable  and  yet 
she  admits  that  she  hadn't  the  courage  to  face  the  pov- 
erty she  had  known  before.  On  the  night  that  we 
came  to  your  rooms  and  Nina  laid  her  father's  letter  on 
the  table,  Doris  saw  Pandolfi  take  it  and  in  turn,  when 
the  opportunity  presented  itself,  she  took  it  from  him 
and  for  all  that  time  until  you  got  it  again,  it  was  in 
her  possession.  You  will  remember  of  course  how  one 
night  last  winter  you  found  her  in  the  street  suffering 
—  really  suffering  from  cold  and  hunger  and  how  you 
took  her  in?  Do  you  know  how  she  came  to  be  in  that 
condition?  For  your  sake  —  I  am  telling  you  all  this 
because  after  you  have  heard  it,  you  must  think  well 
what  you  wish  to  do  and  of  the  solemn  responsibilities  in- 
volved and  as  you  answer  me,  I  will  know  how  to  act. 

"  Yes,  Goeffrey,  it  was  for  you  that  she  had  come  to 
that.  At  first,  although  she  knew  of  course  that  she 
had  no  right  to  keep  it  —  she  did  not  send  you  her 
letter  through  love  and  jealousy.  She  feared  from  the 
importance  every  one  seemed  to  attach  to  it,  that  it 
would  play  some  vital  part  in  re-establishing  your  for- 
tunes and  she  felt  sure  that  in  that  case  you  would 
marry  Nina.  Then  too,  from  some  feeling  of  loyalty 
to  Pandolfi,  she  hesitated  to  give  it  to  you  and  later 
there  was  another  reason.  Pandolfi,  who  had  divined 
her  feelings  toward  you,  threatened  to  reveal  their  re- 
lations to  you  and  it  was  then  that  she  told  him  that 
the  letter  was  in  her  possession  and  that  if  he  breathed 


336  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

one  word  to  you,  she  would  give  it  to  you.  He  tried  to 
find  it,  was  brutal  to  her,  but  she  would  not  give  it  to 
him.  One  night  last  summer  she  came  to  see  you  — 
your  business  venture  had  failed  and  you  had  just  had 
a  note  from  Nina  breaking  off  your  engagement.  She 
could  not  help  telling  you  what  her  opinion  of  Nina  was, 
and  I  am  not  sure  but  that  she  was  right,  and  you  were 
angry  with  her  and  she  went  away.  That  night  she 
sent  you  the  letter,  determined  never  to  see  you  again  — 
to  give  you  over  as  she  thought  to  her  rival  and  to 
brave  Pandolfi's  anger  —  for  she  had  said  that  when 
she  sent  it  to  you,  she  would  tell  him.  There  was  some- 
thing very  fine  about  that,  Goeffrey  —  culpable  as  she 
was  in  not  giving  it  to  you  at  first,  because  in  doing 
so  she  faced  poverty,  brutality  at  Pandolfi's  hands,  and 
because  she  felt  that  she  was  giving  you  up  forever. 
Pandolfi  turned  her  out  that  night,  stripped  of  every- 
thing as  he  thought,  which  would  be  of  value,  but  he  had 
overlooked  a  watch  which  she  wore  on  a  chain  around 
her  neck.  She  pawned  that  and  began  to  look  for  work. 
"  With  the  exception  of  a  few  weeks'  employment  at  a 
dressmaker's  which  she  was  forced  to  leave  because  Pan- 
dolfi found  her  there,  her  life,  during  that  time,  was  so 
hard,  so  dreadful,  that  as  she  told  me  about  it,  she  cried 
at  the  recollection  of  what  she  had  gone  through  with. 
She  had  great  courage,  but  that  failed  her  at  last  and 
then  she  went  that  night  and  stood  outside  your  house. 
If  you  had  not  found  her,  I  do  not  know  whether  she 
would  have  gone  up  to  you  or  not  —  she  does  not  know 
herself. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  337 

"  That  is  all.  She  knew  that  you  were  beginning  to  be 
very  fond  of  her,  but  she  could  not  bear  not  to  be  with 
you  —  and  she  asked  me,  in  case  I  should  see  you  and 
you  should  speak  of  her,  to  tell  you  how  sorry  she  is 
and  to  ask  you  again  and  again  to  forgive  her." 

"Forgive  her?  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,"  said 
Goeff rey.  "  I  love  her.  I  will  marry  her  —  she  thinks 
that  her  life  with  Pandolfi  has  shut  her  out  forever  from 
the  association  of  so  called  decent  people.  /  don't  see 
it.  Nina  would  not  deign  perhaps  to  notice  a  woman 
like  Doris,  although  Doris  is  her  equal  in  every  way, 
but  would  she  have  done  for  me  what  Doris  did?  I  tell 
you  that  I  would  be  proud  to  marry  her." 

"  But  remember,"  Constance  answered,  "  there  will 
be  many  people  like  Nina  who  will  condemn  her  —  you 
cannot  live  as  you  have  been,  always.  You  must  be 
prepared  to  suffer  slights  and  humiliations." 

"  I  will  take  her  abroad,"  said  Goeffrey,  "  we  would 
be  happy  there.  We  used  to  talk  about  it  so  much." 

"But  you  haven't  any  money,  how  could  you  live?" 

"  I  would  earn  it  somehow.  Tell  me,  Constance,  where 
she  is,  please !  please !  " 

"  No,  I  will  not  tell  you  now.  Think  it  over  to-night 
—  I  will  send  her  a  note  to  come  and  see  me  in  the  morn- 
ing. I  want  to  talk  with  her  and  if  you  will  come  in 
the  afternoon,  I  will  tell  you  then  what  I  have  decided." 

"  It  can't  be  that  you  would  decide  not  to  let  me  see 
her,  Constance  —  you  wouldn't  be  so  hard." 

"  It  is  for  her,  Goeffrey,  think  well  about  it  —  you 
must  realize  the  responsibility  of  the  course  you  want 


338  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

to  take,  in  justice  to  her.  She  is  pure  gold —  she  has 
suffered  enough  —  and  Goeffrey,  if  you  should  marry 
her,  you  must  never  fail  her." 

"  I  will  never  rest  until  I  find  her." 

Constance  gave  one  of  her  rare  and  beautiful  smiles 
and  held  out  her  hand.  "  Come  to-morrow,"  she  said. 

As  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs  he  saw  Mr.  Ban- 
croft in  the  hall  giving1  his  card  to  the  servant.  "  Tell 
Mrs.  Whitely  that  it  is  most  important,"  he  was  saying, 
and  as  he  saw  Goeffrey,  he  beckoned  him  into  the  little 
parlor  to  wait  the  servant's  return.  There  was  a  gleam 
of  triumph  in  his  eyes  and  closing  the  door,  he  said 
almost  in  a  whisper : 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  you  this  because  I  trust  you.  I've 
got  your  precious  cousin  at  last  where  I  want  him.  I 
knew  that  if  I  gave  him  rope  enough,  he'd  hang  himself. 
Do  you  know  he  hasn't  been  here  for  three  days  —  and 
went  without  a  word  of  explanation  ?  But  I  know  where 
he  was.  He  has  forgotten  me  apparently  and  fears 
nothing.  Constance  is  too  proud  of  course  to  spy  on 
him,  but  when  she  knows  what  I  have  to  tell  her,  she  will 
act." 

"  She  isn't  very  well,"  said  Goeffrey. 

"  Of  course  she  isn't  well,  nor  ever  will  be  until  she 
tears  that  scoundrel  out  of  her  heart  and  rids  herself 
of  him.  Have  you  seen  her?  "  he  added. 

"  Just  now,"  Goeffrey  answered,  "  she  has  a  bad 
cold." 

"  She's  always  having  them  • —  she's  run  down  —  but 
I'll  save  her."  He  kept  pacing  up  and  down.  "  What 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  339 

I  don't  understand  is  about  Storey.  He  loves  her  — 
why  doesn't  he  do  something." 

"  He  hasn't  been  asked  to  do  anything,  besides  what 
could  he  do?  " 

"  I  could  do  something,"  the  old  man  answered, 
"  and  I've  done  it,"  and  the  servant  coming  in  at  that 
moment  to  say  that  Mrs.  Whitely  would  see  him,  he 
fairly  ran  out  of  the  room. 

Goeffrey  spent  the  day  in  walking  the  streets.  It 
would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to  have  gone  back 
to  work.  He  kept  a  constant  watch,  hoping  that  he 
might  see  Doris.  He  went  again  to  her  office  only  to 
learn  that  a  note  had  come  from  Mrs.  Whitely,  saying 
that  Miss  Adair  would  not  return  there  for  the  present 
at  least.  His  desire  and  impatience  were  so  intense, 
that  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  could  not  possibly  live 
through  the  time  that  must  pass  before  he  could  see  Con- 
stance again.  The  realization  of  what  Doris  had  done 
for  him,  and  more  especially  the  courage  with  which  she 
had  fought  to  support  herself  after  leaving  Pandolfi, 
touched  him  so  keenly  that  it  was  like  a  physical  pain 
—  any  thought  of  blame  for  her  life  with  Pandolfi  or 
any  prejudice  which  it  might  have  aroused  in  him,  were 
swept  clean  away  by  her  devotion.  She  had  builded 
better  than  she  knew,  because  in  her  act  of  renuncia- 
tion, she  had  rehabilitated  herself;  in  fact  put  the  idea 
of  the  necessity  for  rehabilitation  out  of  the  question. 

Goeffrey  went  home  at  last  about  the  hour  that  they 
had  come  there  together  the  day  before.  Under  the 
fading  light  of  day,  the  room  had  the  same  somnolent 


340  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

look,  through  the  closed  window  came  faintly  the  roar 
of  the  city.  It  was  here  that  he,  but  a  few  hours  before, 
had  held  her  in  his  arms.  He  sat  down  on  the  sofa  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  "  Oh,  God !  give  her  to 
me,"  he  prayed. 

His  restlessness  was  so  great  that  he  went  out  again, 
but  there  was  a  sense  of  loneliness  so  strong  in  the 
rush  and  turmoil  of  the  streets  without  her,  without 
knowing  where  to  place  her  in  his  thoughts,  that  he  re- 
turned again.  He  seemed  nearer  to  her  there.  They 
had  spent  so  many  hours  there  that  something  of  her 
brave  and  sincere  spirit  pervaded  the  room  and  gave 
him  courage.  Late  in  the  evening  he  went  out  again, 
dined  hurriedly  and  came  back  to  sit  by  his  fire  to  think 
of  her,  always  of  her.  He  became  absorbed,  did  not 
move  but  sat  hour  by  hour  looking  into  the  fire. 
Finally  he  got  up  and  with  mechanical  movements,  like  a 
somnambulist,  undressed  himself,  got  into  bed  and  slept 
immediately  —  the  sleep  of  exhaustion. 

But  Goeffrey  did  not  see  Constance  the  following 
day.  That  night  her  illness  took  suddenly  a  serious 
turn  and  she  could  see  no  one.  Going  there  with  the 
conviction  that  she  would  surely  tell  him  where  Doris 
was  to  be  found,  and  that  before  the  day  was  over  he 
would  see  her  again,  he  received  the  news  in  consterna- 
tion, called  repeatedly  to  ask  about  her  and  haunted  the 
streets  in  the  hope  that  Constance  had  been  able  to  send 
for  Doris  and  that  he  might  intercept  her  in  case  she 
should  call. 

He  waited  until  long  after  dark  and  then  went  home 
to  another  night  of  almost  unbearable  suspense. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

PANDOLFI  was  half  Italian  and  half  American.  His 
father,  who  was  a  Neapolitan,  had  married  while  at- 
tached to  the  Italian  Embassy  at  Washington,  the  only 
daughter  of  a  western  manufacturer  of  considerable 
wealth  who  had  died  soon  after.  The  elder  Pandolfi, 
seeing  no  reason  for  retaining  his  position  after  his 
wife  had  come  into  her  money,  promptly  resigned  and, 
until  his  death,  they  had  led  a  roving  existence  —  ap- 
pearing suddenly  in  New  York,  in  Paris  or  in  Rome 
and  as  suddenly  disappearing  again.  One  could  always 
count,  however,  on  finding  them  at  Monte  Carlo  during 
the  season  and  at  the  other  resorts  which  were  running 
on  the  continent  at  that  time,  because  gambling  was  an 
insatiable  passion  with  the  elder  Pandolfi  and  in  the 
gratification  of  it,  he  made  such  inroads  on  his  wife's 
property,  that  when  he  died,  her  income  was  barely 
enough  to  support  herself  and  her  son  who  at  that  time 
was  eighteen. 

Ernesto  immediately  took  up  the  reins  of  government 
which  the  head  of  the  family  had  relinquished,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  rule  his  mother  with  a  rod  of  iron,  as  his 
father  had  done  before  him.  There  was  not  the  least 
doubt  in  his  mind  as  to  what  their  future  plans  must 
be.  He  announced  at  once,  they  were  in  Rome  at  the 
time,  that  they  were  going  to  New  York. 

341 


342  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  But  we  can  live  so  much  more  cheaply  over  here, 
Ernesto,"  his  mother  remonstrated. 

Ernesto,  a  big  handsome  boy,  looked  at  her  half  con- 
temptuously with  his  large,  bold  eyes  and  answered: 

"  Don't  argue  mother  —  I  am  going  to  Wall  Street 
to  make  my  fortune  —  after  I  have  made  it  you  may 
live  wherever  you  like." 

On  their  arrival  in  New  York,  he  secured,  through 
some  friendly  influence,  a  position  in  the  office  of  a  large 
brokerage  firm,  started  at  once  to  master  the  tricks  of  his 
trade  and  on  the  death  of  his  mother,  eight  years  later, 
took  the  small  capital  she  left  him  and  embarked  on 
his  career. 

Whether  Pandolfi  owed  his  peculiar  business  capacity 
to  his  western  grandfather,  to  his  father's  passion  for 
gambling,  modified  by  other  things,  whether  he  had  in- 
herited from  a  forgotten  Genoese  or  Florentine  an- 
cestor, some  of  the  old  Italian  genius  for  finance,  or 
whether  it  was  a  combination  of  all  three  influences  —  in 
ten  years  he  was  already  known  as  a  successful  specula- 
tor —  daring  but  unscrupulous.  But  the  mere  occupa- 
tion of  making  money  would  never  have  contented  him, 
as  it  does  so  many  men.  He  wanted  it  and  worked  hard 
to  get  it  so  that  he  might  have  the  means  to  gratify 
other  tastes.  He  had  a  hankering  for  the  flesh  pots  and 
for  a  roving  and  cosmopolitan  life,  bred  in  him  by  his 
early  associations,  but  he  wished  for  an  income  large 
enough  to  satisfy  his  luxurious  tastes  and  habits,  with- 
out stint. 

The  brilliant  inauguration   of  Pandolfi's   campaign 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  343 

in  Middle  States  was  long  remembered  in  Wall  Street. 
Everything  had  gone  swimmingly  for  him  —  the  short 
interests  caught  unawares,  were  in  a  condition  of  panic- 
stricken  despair,  and  the  price  of  Middle  States'  stock 
was  each  day  mounting  higher  and  higher,  when  one 
afternoon  he  received  a  message  from  Storey  that  the 
latter  would  like  to  see  him  at  once.  He  was  at  first 
inclined  to  ignore  this  summons,  the  street  was  in  a  con- 
dition bordering  on  frenzy,  messages  were  coming  to 
him  constantly  and  he  did  not  wish  to  leave  for  one 
moment  the  work  in  hand,  but  people  had  a  way  of  obey- 
ing Storey  and  so  putting  on  his  hat,  he  went  hurriedly 
to  the  office  of  the  gigantic  institution  of  which  the 
banker  was  the  head. 

Storey's  bank  occupied  an  old-fashioned  building, 
standing  between  two  enormous  modern  structures.  It 
had  stood  there  for  three  generations  with  its  simple 
and  rather  ugly  fa9ade,  indifferent  to  the  changes,  the 
demolitions,  the  incessant  rebuilding  going  on  around 
it,  and  in  this  indifference  it  seemed  to  typify  the  stabil- 
ity, the  strength,  the  power  of  its  owner.  As  if  amid 
the  feverish  life  of  the  street,  amid  all  the  records  of 
fortunes  made  and  lost,  the  growth  and  decay  of  great 
enterprises,  amid  the  surging  of  the  horde,  the  conflicts, 
the  defeats,  disasters,  victories  and  blasted  hopes,  it 
stood  for  a  permanent  thing,  solid  and  indestructible. 

Pandolfi,  after  a  moment's  wait,  was  shown  into 
Storey's  private  office  on  the  second  floor.  It  was  a 
large  room  with  two  high  windows  looking  on  the  street 
through  which  came  without  cessation  the  muffled  roar 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

of  the  city,  a  long  sustained,  never  ending  roar,  made 
up  of  multitudinous  sounds,  the  noise  of  hoofs,  of  the 
roll  of  wheels,  of  the  rush  of  trains,  of  shouts,  of  cries, 
the  rattling  impact  of  riveting  machines  on  iron  and 
the  surging  of  the  horde.  There  was  no  hint  of  the  con- 
noisseur in  this  room,  with  its  ugly  old-fashioned  wood- 
work, its  bare  walls,  its  heavy,  leather-covered  furniture, 
except  that  above  the  fireplace  in  which  there  was  a  blaze 
of  soft  coal,  a  large  portrait  of  a  lady  had  been  placed, 
a  Van  Dyke.  To  Storey  it  had  always  seemed  that 
this  lady  looked  like  Constance,  so  he  had  hung  it 
there. 

The  attendant  who  ushered  Pandolfi  into  the  room, 
withdrew,  closing  the  door  after  him.  Storey  was  sitting 
before  a  desk  which  stood  between  one  of  the  windows 
and  the  fireplace.  He  was  writing.  On  seeing  Pan- 
dolfi, he  motioned  him  to  a  chair  standing  at  the  end  of 
his  desk  and  handing  him  a  letter  he  said: 

"  Excuse  me,  I  will  be  finished  in  a  moment  —  and 
in  the  meantime  you  might  be  reading  this^ — it  may 
interest  you." 

Pandolfi  knew  at  a  glance  that  it  must  be  the  letter 
which  Doris  had  posted  to  Goeffrey,  and  he  read  it  very 
carefully,  very  slowly,  so  that  he  would  remember  each 
word  of  it.  When  he  looked  up  Storey  had  finished  his 
writing. 

"  Well,"  said  Storey  at  last,  "  what  do  you  think  of 
that  letter?" 

"  Most  interesting,"  Pandolfi  replied  lightly.  "  Inter- 
esting because  it  is  a  farrago  of  insane  nonsense  written 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  345 

by  a  crazy  man.  Beyond  that  it  means  nothing.  I 
would  like  a  copy  of  it,  though.  Have  you  one?" 

"  I  have  no  copy  of  it,"  Storey  answered,  glancing 
at  him  keenly  for  an  instant,  "  but  I  can  have  one  made 
for  you.  But  what  interested  me  in  it  was,  that  he 
makes  a  serious  accusation  against  you." 

"  Davidge  was  a  lunatic  and  you  know  it." 

"  We  do  not  know  that.  Certain  facts  about 
Davidge's  life  which  have  become  known  since  his  disap- 
pearance, have  led  people  to  suppose  so  although  no 
one  knows  for  certain,  but  even  admitting  it,  lunatics 
have  lucid  moments  sometimes  and  I  should  call  that  let- 
ter a  very  lucid  one." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Storey,  I  have  not  time  for  a  discus- 
sion of  this  sort  this  morning  of  all  mornings,  I  am  over- 
whelmed with  business,"  and  Pandolfi  half  rose  from 
his  chair. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Storey  so  suddenly,  in  that  harsh 
and  powerful  voice  of  his,  that  Pandolfi  obeyed  him 
instantly.  "  Davidge  charges  you  with  having  received 
money  from  him  with  which  to  carry  on  your  specula- 
tions ;  money  which  he  dishonestly  raised  —  he  does  not 
charge  you  with  specific  knowledge  as  to  whose  property 
he  was  appropriating,  except  in  one  case,  that  of  Goef- 
frey  Hunter.  He  had  kept  his  securities  intact,  but  at 
the  end  he  not  only  told  you  to  whom  they  belonged, 
but  gave  them  into  your  hands.  I  believe  what  Davidge 
writes  and  I  sent  for  you  to  bring  the  matter  to  your 
attention  and  to  ask  you  what  you  intend  to  do  about 
it,  now  that  the  facts  in  the  case  are  known." 


346  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"Do  about  it?"  returned  Pandolfi  with  a  sneering 
laugh,  "  absolutely  nothing  at  all." 

"  Do  you  deny  the  truth  of  his  assertions?  " 

"  I  deny  or  affirm  nothing  —  I  fear  you,  so  little  that 
you  may  think  what  you  please.  Admit  even  for  the 
sake  of  argument,  that  I  am  guilty  —  you  know  that 
there  is  not  one  iota  of  evidence  against  me." 

"  There  is  that  letter." 

"Do  you  call  that  evidence?" 

"  Very  good  evidence." 

"Is  that  all  you  have?" 

"  Yes,  and  all  I  need." 

Pandolfi  with  a  quick  movement,  sprang  to  the  fire, 
tore  the  letter  across  four  times  and  threw  the  pieces 
in  on  the  blazing  coals. 

"  Good-by  to  your  evidence,"  he  sneered,  "  and  good- 
by  to  you,  sir.  I  have  wasted  too  much  time  here  al- 
ready." 

Storey's  eyes  had  flashed  for  a  moment  at  Pandolfi's 
action,  but  as  the  latter  turned  to  him,  he  saw  only  a 
burly  and  bulky  form  sitting  immovable,  with  eyes  which 
pierced  him  with  their  cold  and  hostile  glance. 

"  You  will  wait  one  moment  more,  please,"  said 
Storey,  and  drawing  the  telephone  toward  him  he  called, 
"  Tell  Mr.  Coverly  that  I  would  like  to  see  him."  Al- 
most at  once  a  young  man  with  a  keen  energetic  face 
entered.  He  was  one  of  the  junior  partners. 

"  Mr.  Coverly,"  said  Storey,  "  have  you  followed  my 
instructions?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  junior  partner  answered. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  347 

"  Then  give  directions  at  once  to  sell  Middle  States." 

A  chill  ran  down  Pandolfi's  spine  when  he  heard  those 
words.  The  explanation  of  that  secret  opposition 
which  months  before  he  thought  he  had  detected,  was 
made  plain  to  him.  Storey  had  been  buying  too  —  had 
guessed  his  plans  and  had  prepared  a  trap  for  him.  He 
knew  that  if  Storey  threw  his  stock  on  the  market,  both 
would  lose,  but  he  knew  too  that  Storey  knew  that  he 
would  not  allow  this,  because  while  the  loss  would  be 
large;  to  Storey  it  would  mean  nothing,  but  to  him 
it  would  mean  ruin.  His  uncontrollable  anger  blazed  up 
for  a  moment,  but  he  had  no  woman  to  deal  with  now 
and  he  mastered  it.  He  must  make  the  best  terms  pos- 
sible. 

"  Wait,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  what  am  I  to  do,  what 
do  you  want  ?  " 

Storey  made  a  sign  and  the  junior  partner,  who  was 
just  leaving  the  room,  came  back  and  closed  the 
door. 

Storey  replied  with  one  word.     "  Restitution." 

"  What  do  you  mean  —  am  I  to  make  good  to  the 
creditors  of  Davidge's  bank  the  money  he  stole  from 
it?" 

"  You  know  that  that  is  not  what  I  want  —  I  want 
the  value  of  Hunter's  securities." 

"How  much?" 

"  Six  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

"  I  can't  do  it  —  you  may  as  well  ruin  me  at  once." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Storey  and  turning,  he  made 
another  sign  to  the  junior  partner. 


348  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Wait,"  interrupted  Pandolfi  again,  "  I  will  give 
you  three  hundred  thousand." 

"  No." 

"  Four  hundred  thousand." 

"  No." 

"  Four  hundred  and  fifty." 

"  No." 

"  You  are  ruining  me,"  cried  Pandolfi  savagely. 
"This  is  robbery  —  blackmail  —  I  will  not  stand  it." 

"  I  am  not  ruining  you,"  said  Storey  contemptuously, 
"  you  will  have  enough,"  and  then  his  manner  changing 
suddenly  he  added  harshly,  "  you  will  pay  six  hundred 
thousand,  not  one  penny  less  —  but  decide." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Pandolfi  sullenly.  "  When  do  you 
want  it?  " 

"  Now." 

"  I  cannot  give  it  to  you  now  —  it  is  impossible  — 
to-morrow." 

Storey  looked  at  his  watch.  "  I  leave  here  in  twenty 
minutes  to  keep  an  appointment  —  if  you  do  not  deliver 
to  me  within  that  time  in  money  or  securities,  the  sum 
I  have  named,  I  shall  break  off  all  dealings  with  you, 
but  I  will  break  your  Middle  States  market  too." 

Pandolfi,  with  a  smothered  oath,  took  up  his  hat  to 
leave  the  room. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  asked  Storey. 
"  To  my  safety  deposit  box." 

"  Very  well  —  remember  that  you  have  twenty  minutes 
and  no  more  ?  " 

"Was  it  wise  to  let  him  go,  sir?"  asked  the  junior 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  349 

partner,  who  had  been  an  interested  spectator  of  this 
scene. 

"  He  will  come  back,"  answered  Storey,  "  he  is 
simply  paying  six  hundred  thousand  for  the  privilege 
of  making  much  more.  I  would  like  you  to  deposit  the 
securities  which  he  will  bring,  to  Goeffrey  Hunter's 
credit  and  to  write  him  to  call  at  my  house  to-morrow 
at  nine." 

Ten  minutes  had  passed  when  an  attendant  who  al- 
ways stood  in  the  passage  outside  Storey's  door,  knocked 
and  entered  with  a  perplexed  and  dubious  air. 

"What  is  it,  Brooks?" 

"  A  man  to  see  you,  sir." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

Brooks,  still  with  an  air  of  perplexity,  went  quickly 
to  Storey's  desk  and  bending  forward  he  said  in  a  low 
voice : 

"  He  wouldn't  give  me  his  name,  sir,  but  I  think  — 
I  think  it  is  Mr.  Davidge." 

"  Mr.  Davidge ! "  exclaimed  Storey  in  amazement, 
"  but  how  can  it  be  possible  —  the  police  are  on  the 
watch  for  him  —  he  is  known  everywhere." 

"  But  he  is  so  changed,  sir,  hardly  anyone  would 
know  him.  He  has  a  beard  now  and  is  much  thinner, 
but  I  am  sure  it  is  Mr*  Davidge,  sir." 

"  Did  no  one  recognize  him  in  the  office?" 

"  He  came  up  by  your  private  stairs,  sir." 

Pandolfi  might  return  at  any  moment  and  the  busi- 
ness in  hand  must  not  be  interrupted. 

"  Take  him  into  my  small  office,"  said  Storey  quickly, 


350  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

indicating  a  door  which  opened  from  the  room  in  which 
he  was  sitting  —  "but  by  way  of  the  passage  —  don't 
let  him  come  through  here  —  and  tell  him  that  I  will 
see  him  in  ten  minutes.  Get  him  in  there  at  once." 

"  Davidge  of  all  men,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  Brooks 
hurried  out  of  the  room.  Here  was  a  situation  which  he 
wished  himself  well  out  of.  Davidge,  a  man  he  had 
known  for  years,  although  he  had  respected  him  but 
little,  a  fugitive  from  justice,  had  by  presenting  him- 
self there,  thrown  himself  on  Storey's  mercy.  He  went 
quickly  to  the  door  and  looked  out.  The  passage  was 
empty.  How  lucky  that  he  had  come  at  that  very 
moment.  According  to  Davidge's  own  statement,  Pan- 
dolfi  had  had  a  guilty  knowledge  of  his  speculations 
only  where  Goeffrey's  fortune  was  concerned,  but  if 
they  had  come  face  to  face,  the  latter  would  have  real- 
ized at  once  that  with  Davidge  under  arrest,  ready  no 
doubt  to  tell  what  he  knew,  the  restitution  of  it  would  not 
save  him  and  he  would  have  refused  to  restore  one  penny 
of  it.  He  had  hardly  reached  his  desk  again  when  Pan- 
dolfi  entered. 

"  That  is  all,  I  think,"  Storey  said,  after  examining 
the  securities  to  ascertain  if  they  were  of  a  satisfactory 
nature  and  reached  the  necessary  total. 

"  Not  quite  all,"  answered  Pandolfi,  anger  getting 
the  better  of  him,  "  it  may  flatter  your  conceit  to  as- 
sume the  powers  of  a  czar,  but  let  me  tell  you  that  I 
have  friends  as  powerful  as  you  are  and  you  will  suffer 
for  this,  if  I  can  make  you." 

The  door  to  Storey's  inner  office  was  close  behind 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  351 

him  and  at  that  instant  he  heard  the  knob  turn  and 
knew  that  it  had  been  opened  —  he  saw  too  an  expres- 
sion of  amazement,  of  horror,  of  rage  and  of  profound 
chagrin  cross  Pandolfi's  face  and  as  he  turned,  Davidge 
was  standing  beside  him,  his  features  distorted  with 
an  expression  of  maniacal  hatred. 

"  Suffer !  "  he  cried  in  a  high  shrill  voice,  "  suffer ! 
You  have  made  too  many  people  suffer  already." 

He  raised  his  arm  and  at  that  moment  Brooks  sprang 
through  the  doorway,  but  before  he  could  seize  him,  an 
explosion  sounded  deafeningly  in  the  room  and  Pan- 
dolfi  fell  —  half  rose  —  fell  again  —  shuddered  for  a 
moment  and  then  lay  still. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

EVEX  murder  could  not  keep  Storey  from  his  engage- 
ments, and  on  the  arrival  of  the  police,  he  left  at  once 
to  keep  an  appointment  uptown.  It  was  a  meeting 
which  proved  to  be  a  long  and  stormy  one,  and  on  com- 
ing out  from  it,  he  felt,  because  of  it,  and  because  of 
that  tragic  scene  which  he  had  so  lately  witnessed,  an 
unusual  thing  for  him,  overwrought.  He  dismissed  his 
motor  and  determined  to  walk  home,  the  distance  was 
not  great,  hoping  that  the  exercise  and  the  fresh  air, 
would  dispel  the  nervous  tension  which  oppressed  him. 

It  was  six  o'clock  and  as  always  at  that  hour,  the 
streets  were  swarming  with  people.  He  walked  heavily 
as  if  with  an  effort,  and  the  din  and  confusion  of  the 
city  struck  on  his  nerves  with  an  intolerable  insistence. 
He  wanted  to  get  away.  What  did  his  power  mean? 
His  wealth,  which  so  many  envied,  nothing  but  respon- 
sibilities, ever  and  ever  accumulating,  ever  piling  up  on 
his  already  overburdened  shoulders.  What  would  he 
not  give  to  throw  them  off,  to  be  rid  of  them  forever,  to 
get  far  away  from  the  struggles,  the  conflicts,  the 
hatreds  of  men. 

As  he  was  preparing  to  cross  Fifth  Avenue  near  his 
house,  a  motor  passed  quickly  close  to  him  and  in  the 
instant  that  was  given  him,  he  saw  Mrs.  Martel  and 

359 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  353 

Richard  in  it.  A  blaze  of  resentment;  flashed  up  in  him 
and  he  raised  his  stick  involuntarily  as  if  in  his  anger 
he  would  smash  its  window  to  atoms,  but  it  had  passed 
in  an  instant  and  by  the  time  he  had  crossed  the  avenue, 
he  saw  it  turn  down  the  street  in  which  stood  Martel's 
house. 

And  this,  he  thought  to  himself,  was  the  end  of  Con- 
stance's romance,  already  her  husband  had  taken  up  his 
old  liason.  He  felt  no  anger  toward  her  —  never  had 
—  but  he  was  sorry  for  her  to  the  bottom  of  his  heart 
and  his  love  for  her,  which  he  had  tried  to  put  away, 
welled  up  again  in  an  ever  growing  flood,  mingled  with 
anger  and  resentment  against  the  man  who  could  re- 
gard her  so  lightly.  He  was  dining  out  that  night  and 
through  the  whole  evening  he  felt  that  same  depression, 
that  sense  of  some  impending  evil  which  had  oppressed 
him  when  Martel  had  come  to  his  end,  and  finding  that 
he  could  not  rid  himself  of  it,  he  had  left  early,  reaching 
his  house  a  little  after  ten. 

"  Mr.  Bancroft  has  telephoned  you  several  times, 
sir,"  a  servant  said  as  he  came  in,  "  and  told  me  to  ask 
you  to  call  him  up  at  once,  he  gave  me  the  telephone 
number,"  and  he  handed  Storey  a  slip  of  paper  on  which 
it  was  written.  Storey  looked  at  it  and  remembered  at 
once  that  it  was  Constance's  number.  What  could  it 
mean?  He  hurried  to  his  library  and  took  down  the 
receiver.  Iri  a  moment  Mr.  Bancroft  himself  answered : 

"  Storey,"  he  said,  he  spoke  with  much  agitation 
and  his  voice  trembled,  "  Constance  is  ill,  seriously  ill 
with  pneumonia." 


354.  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Storey  felt  his  heart  contract  suddenly.  "  Her  hus- 
band has  been  away  for  several  days,  I  happened  to 
know  where  and  I  got  by  long  distance  the  house  he 
had  been  stopping  in,  but  they  told  me  there  that  he  had 
left  last  night.  Since  he  got  back  from  abroad,  he 
has  taken  the  apartment  he  had  before  he  was  married 
and  often  sleeps  there,  but  he  is  not  there  now.  She 
asks  for  him  constantly  and  his  disappearance  is  hav- 
ing a  bad  effect  on  her  —  she  has  asked  for  you  too  — 
could  you  come  at  once  ?  " 

"  I  will  come  immediately,"  Storey  answered  —  "  and 
it  may  be  that  I  can  find  her'  husband,  I  saw  him  to-day 
and  I  think  I  know  where  he  is." 

"  Thank  God  —  if  you  only  can,"  came  Mr.  Ban- 
croft's voice.  "  Will  you  be  long?  " 

"  An  hour,  perhaps  less." 

Storey  went  downstairs  again.  "  Telephone  for  the 
motor  at  once  and  send  it  to  Mrs.  Martel's  house.  I 
shall  be  there,"  he  said  to  the  footman  and  hurried  out. 

He  was  in  a  condition  of  almost  uncontrollable  fury. 
He  rang  sharply  at  Mrs.  Martel's  door  and  on  its  be- 
ing opened,  pushed  quickly  into  the  hall.  A  number 
of  trunks,  hat  boxes  and  hand  bags  were  piled  up 
in  it. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Martel  going  away  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  She  sails  for  Europe  early  in  the  morning,"  the 
servant  answered  him. 

The  sound  of  a  piano  being  played  by  deft  and  ac- 
complished hands,  came  from  the  drawing-room  over- 
head. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  355 

"  What  name  shall  I  give,  sir,"  asked  the  servant,  who 
evidently  did  not  know  him. 

"  It  is  not  necessary,"  answered  Storey,  and  he  as- 
cended the  stairs. 

Richard  was  seated  at  the  piano  and  Mrs.  Martel 
was  leaning  over  him.  He  was  playing  without  notes 
and  was  looking  up  into  her  face.  They  were  talking 
together  in  low  tones  under  cover  of  the  music.  Mrs. 
Martel  was  facing  Storey,  and  as  she  saw  him  her  ex- 
pression changed  so  quickly  that  Richard  noticed  it  and 
turned  too.  The  music  stopped  with  an  abrupt  discord 
and  he  got  up  suddenly  with  a  queer  scared  expression. 
There  was  something  in  Storey's  face  which  terrified 
both  of  them.  He  went  up  to  Richard  and  in  an  aban- 
donment of  rage  seized  him  in  his  powerful  grip  and 
shook  him  until  his  brain  reeled. 

"  You  cur,"  he  hissed,  "  you  contemptible,  cowardly 
scoundrel.  Do  you  know  that  your  wife  is  ill,  dying 
perhaps,  asking  for  you  and  you  are  here  dishonoring 
her  with  this  strumpet  ?  " 

"I  —  I  knew,"  said  Richard,  "  I  was  going  there  at 
once." 

"  You  liar !  you  have  not  been  there  for  days,  but  you 
are  going  now?  "  He  did  not  release  his  grip  of  Rich- 
ard and  started  toward  the  stairs.  As  he  reached  the 
door  he  turned  to  Mrs.  Martel  who,  pale  and  frightened, 
had  sunk  into  a  chair. 

"  They  tell  me  you  are  sailing  for  Europe  to-morrow. 
Let  me  advise  you  not  to  come  back.  I  have  certain 
papers  given  me  by  your  husband,  among  them  one  writ- 


356  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

ten  by  yourself  in  my  presence  —  if  you  value  your 
peace  of  mind,  stay  there." 

His  motor  car  was  just  drawing  up  to  the  curb  as  he 
went  out  and  thrusting  Richard  unceremoniously  into  it, 
he  gave  the  number  of  Constance's  house.  They  rode 
there  in  silence.  Mr.  Bancroft,  who  was  watching  for 
them  from  one  of  the  windows  of  the  library,  saw  the  car 
turn  the  corner  and  met  them  in  the  hall  as  they  entered. 
He  cast  a  hostile  look  at  Richard  but  gave  no  further 
sign  of  recognition  and  was  about  to  speak  when  the 
footman  opened  the  great  entrance  doors  again  and  a 
tall  thin  man  with  an  iron  gray  beard  came  quickly  in. 
It  was  the  physician.  On  seeing  Storey,  he  bowed  with 
exaggerated  politeness  to  all  three,  and  came  up  to  them. 

"  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  sir,"  he  said  to  Storey,  rub- 
bing his  hands  briskly  together,  and  beginning  to  take 
off  his  overcoat. 

"  How  is  Mrs.  Whitely?  "  Storey  asked. 

"  Her  condition  is  serious,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  very 
serious,"  the  physician  answered,  "  I  saw  her  two  hours 
ago.  If  you  will  wait  I  will  report  to  you  again,"  and 
turning  he  disappeared  into  the  elevator. 

Mr.  Bancroft  came  up  to  Storey  and  said  in  a  low 
trembling  voice,  "  I  want  to  speak  to  you  alone." 

Storey  pointed  to  the  little  parlor  which  opened  off 
the  great  hall  and  motioned  to  Richard  to  go  into  it. 

"  If  she  dies,"  Mr.  Bancroft  went  on,  looking  pitifully 
at  Storey,  "  it  is  I  who  have  killed  her."  His  agitation 
was  extreme  and  he  pressed  a  shaking  hand  repeatedly 
across  his  forehead. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  357 

"  You  know  that  I  have  always  hated  that  man,"  mak- 
ing a  gesture  toward  the  room  into  which  Richard  had 
disappeared.  "  I  knew  from  the  first,  as  we  all  did,  the 
fatal  mistake  she  was  making  and  knowing  how  false, 
how  unmindful  he  would  be  of  his  responsibilities  toward 
her,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  watch  him,  to  find  out  some- 
thing against  him  and  then  to  open  her  eyes.  She  told 
me  abroad  that  it  would  kill  her  if  she  were  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  knowledge  that  he  did  not  love  her 
—  I  mean  had  deceived  her  in  any  way,  but  I  disre- 
garded what  she  had  said  because  I  thought  that  if  I 
could  show  her  unmistakably  that  he  was  not  worthy  of 
her,  that  she  would  rid  herself  of  him  and  everything 
would  be  as  it  was  before.  But  we  don't  understand 
women  like  Constance,  Mr.  Storey,  they  are  too  far  above 
us,  their  sensibilities  are  too  delicate  for  us  to  grasp 
and  how  we  wound  them,  how  we  make  them  suffer.  I 
believe  that  she  had  no  longer,  down  in  her  heart,  any 
trust  of  him,  but  she  wanted  to  believe,  she  did  not  want 
to  be  disillusioned  because  to  one  as  fine  as  she  is,  it 
would  be  too  horrible,  too  degrading  to  be  brought  into 
contact  with  such  knowledge  —  it  would  stain  her  beau- 
tiful and  pure  soul  too  indelibly. 

"  Well,  I  found  out  what  I  wanted  to  know  and  yes- 
terday I  came  here  blind  to  everything  except  my  detes- 
tation of  him,  and  like  a  blundering  fool,  like  a  brute, 
without  warning,  I  told  her.  Without  mercy  in  my 
exultation  at  being  able  to  disgrace  him,  I  poured  out 
to  her  all  that  I  had  discovered.  Oh,  Mr.  Storey,  to  the 
day  of  my  death  I  shall  never  forget  its  effect  on  her. 


358  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

She  was  ill  already  and  it  was  as  if  I  were  physically 
striking  her  repeatedly  with  all  my  strength,  blow  after 
blow.  She  whom  I  have  always  loved  so  tenderly  —  self- 
ish and  brutal  fool  that  I  was.  I  thought  it  was  the 
only  way." 

The  old  man's  despair  was  pitiful.  He  wrung  his 
hands  as  he  talked  and  out  of  his  dry  old  eyes,  two  tears 
came  and  rested  in  the  furrows  of  his  cheeks.  They 
walked  up  and  down  together;  no  words  came  to 
them,  and  that  peculiar  hush  which  pervades  a  house 
of  sickness,  hung  about  them,  depressing  and  som- 
ber. 

"  This  was  yesterday  —  when  I  had  finished  I  was 
frightened  at  what  I  had  done,  but  even  then  was  glad 
too,  because  while  I  realized  that  I  had  taken  heroic 
measures,  I  felt  that  in  the  end  I  would  be  doing  her  a 
service.  She  was  very  gentle,  said  that  she  was  too  ill 
to  talk  and  then  asked  me  to  go  —  but  her  voice  was  so 
low  that  I  could  scarcely  hear  her  —  I  had  taken  her 
strength  away  completely  and  I  left  her  in  a  condition  of 
deep  exhaustion.  Even  I,  after  I  had  gone,  began 
slowly  to  realize  that  I  had  done  her  a  grave  injury, 
and  last  night  I  called  here  to  find  that  her  illness  had 
taken  a  serious  turn.  This  morning  she  was  a  little  bet- 
ter and,  they  told  me,  asked  repeatedly  for  her  husband  ; 
why,  God  only  knows  —  and  for  you.  I  have  all  day 
been  searching  for  him  but  I  could  find  no  trace  of  him. 
This  afternoon  I  telephoned  to  your  office  but  they  said 
you  would  not  be  back.  Later  I  tried  again  to  find 
him  and  when  I  returned  and  called  up  your  house,  you 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  359 

had  gone  out  and  I  have  been  waiting  ever  since  for  you, 
not  knowing  what  to  do." 

Storey,  his  own  heart  wrung  with  fear  and  sorrow, 
comforted  him  as  best  he  could.  There  seemed  some- 
thing ominous  in  the  physician's  long  absence.  They 
became  silent,  waiting1  for  his  return.  Storey  looked  at 
his  watch  —  it  was  half  past  one.  What  was  happen- 
ing in  that  room  where  Constance  lay.  Could  it  be 
that  she  was  dying?  She  who  was  so  fitted  for  happi- 
ness, for  the  joy  of  life,  whose  very  air  seemed  un- 
consciously to  plead  for  gentleness  as  if  she  were  saying, 
"  We  must  be  kind  to  one  another  —  love  one  another, 
be  gentle  and  forgiving  —  then  life  can  be  very  sweet." 
Could  it  be  that  death  had  come  for  her?  It  seemed 
as  if  he  could  not  sit  there  in  idleness,  as  if  he  must 
go  to  where  she  lay,  to  make  sure  that  all  was  being 
done  that  should  be.  He  thought  of  sending  for  other 
doctors,  one  seemed  as  nothing  where  Constance's  life, 
perhaps,  was  at  stake  —  as  if  he  could  not  do  enough, 
as  if  where  her  life  was  concerned,  the  importance  was 
so  enormously  greater  and  more  vital,  that  one  man 
should  not  undertake  the  responsibility  of  fighting  for 
it  unaided.  And  yet  in  spite  of  all  his  fears,  in  spite 
of  the  knowledge  that  people  die,  all  people,  and  that 
Constance  too  one  day  must  pass  through  that  narrow 
door,  he  could  not  believe  that  the  time  had  come  so  soon. 
Something  in  him  prevented  him  from  realizing  it  —  the 
world  would  change  too  much,  he  could  not  conceive 
what  life  would  be  like  if  she  were  gone.  True  he  had 
not  seen  her,  she  had  been  away,  she  had  become  an- 


360  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

other's,  but  those  conditions  might  pass  if  only  she  would 
live.  Then  he  would  surely  see  her  again  and  always  in 
his  heart  so  deeply  rooted  there,  that  it  could  never 
leave  him,  dwelt  the  undying  hope  that  at  the  end  he 
would  win  her  for  himself  —  and  Storey,  a  man  who 
never  prayed,  prayed  that  night  to  a  long  forgotten 
God,  to  let  her  live. 

The  door  leading  to  the  elevator  slid  back  and  the 
physician  stepped  out  into  the  hall.  Storey  and  Mr. 
Bancroft  rose  to  meet  him  as  he  came  toward  them, 
dreading  to  hear  what  he  might  have  to  tell  them. 

"  I  have  thought  it  best,"  he  said  at  once,  "  to  call  in 
some  of  my  colleagues.  She  is  desperately  ill  and  yet 
I  do  not  — " 

"Is  there  any  hope?"  interrupted  Mr.  Bancroft, 
forced  in  spite  of  himself  to  ask  a  question  to  which 
he  feared  the  answer. 

"Hope?"  replied  the  physician.  "Yes,  there  is 
hope,  but  it  is  a  treacherous  disease  and  one  can  never 
tell  what  turn  it  will  take  —  her  heart  is  not  responding 
as  well  as  I  had  hoped.  I  think  she  has  had  some 
nervous  shock.  I  think  I  may  even  say  that  there  is 
no  immediate  danger.  Her  husband  is  here,  is  he  not?  " 
he  added. 

"  He  is  here,"  answered  Storey.  "  Does  she  wish 
to  see  him?  " 

"  It  would  not  be  best  now,  besides  she  is  barely  con- 
scious, but  she  is  in  a  highly  nervous  condition  and  at 
the  right  moment  his  presence  might  calm  her,"  the 
doctor  replied.  "  He  should  be  within  call,  however. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  361 

I  will  see  if  I  can  reach  my  colleagues,"  and  he  went 
into  the  closet  at  one  side  of  the  great  doors  which  con- 
tained the  telephone. 

"  I  was  fortunate  in  finding  both  of  them  at  home," 
he  said  on  returning,  "  and  they  will  be  here  in  an 
hour." 

Storey  drew  him  aside.  "  Doctor,"  he  said,  "  Mrs. 
Whitely  has  many  old  and  devoted  friends  —  if  you  can 
save  her  life  —  they  will  not  be  ungrateful.  I  will  not 
be  ungrateful  —  do  you  understand  what  that  means?  " 
He  looked  at  the  physician  with  his  proud  and  pene- 
trating glance.  "  It  means  remuneration  such  as  no 
man  in  your  profession  ever  had  before.  Will  you  try 
to  earn  it?  " 

"  I  cannot  do  more  or  less  than  I  am  doing,  sir,"  the 
physician  replied,  but  Storey  saw  that  his  eye  gleamed 
at  the  thought  of  the  reward  offered  him.  "  Rest  as- 
sured that  I  shall  do  everything  that  it  is  possible  to 
do,  and  now  will  you  let  me  make  a  suggestion?  You 
look  worn  out  yourself  —  am  I  not  right?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Storey,  becoming  conscious  all  at 
once  of  extreme  physical  exhaustion,  "  I  have  had  a 
hard  day." 

"  Then  let  me  suggest  that  you  get  some  rest  your- 
self, I  can  see  that  you  need  it.  There  is  no  immediate 
danger,  leave  the  battlefield  to  us,  we  will  do  all  that 
is  humanly  possible  and  in  the  morning  I  may  have 
better  news  for  you.  Good-night,  sir,  I  must  go  to  my 
patient  again." 

Storey  went  into  the  room  where  Richard  was  wait- 


362  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

ing.  He  found  him  sitting  listlessly  before  the  fire  in 
the  gloom  of  the  unlighted  room. 

"  Your  wife  may  ask  for  you  at  any  moment  —  be 
ready  —  and  remember  if  it  is  possible,  counteract  in 
some  way  the  impression  Mr.  Bancroft  made  on  her  by 
his  charges  against  you.  You  are  an  adept  at  that 
sort  of  thing,  no  doubt." 

"  Shall  I  drop  you  at  your  house  ?  "  he  said  to  Mr. 
Bancroft  as  he  came  out. 

"  I  shall  walk,  thanks,"  Mr.  Bancroft  replied  and 
Richard  heard  the  door  clang  after  them. 

"  God  help  me,"  he  kept  repeating  to  himself,  "  God 
help  me  —  what  am  I  to  do?"  Why  was  it  that  life 
should  always  be  made  so  difficult  for  him.  He  had 
meant  no  harm  —  he  had  tried  always  to  treat  his  wife 
with  kindness,  with  consideration.  Was  it  his  fault  if 
she  had  been  disappointed  in  him?  If  she  seemed  to  ex- 
pect things  of  him  which  she  would  not  explain,  seemed 
to  demand  something  the  nature  of  which  he  could  not 
understand?  Could  he  have  known  that  Mrs.  Martel 
was  to  be  set  free  the  very  night  of  his  marriage  —  was 
there  no  excuse  for  him  —  why  had  he  been  made  the 
victim  of  such  a  cruel  trick  of  fortune?  And  then  this 
discovery  of  his  renewed  relations  with  her  —  why  was 
it  that  he  always  had  to  pay  for  the  smallest  transgres- 
sion? Other  men  who  were  uncongenially  married, 
sought  with  impunity,  consolation  elsewhere  —  why 
should  he  be  made  to  suffer  for  it  when  others  went  scot 
free?  He  had  sacrificed  himself  to  save  Mrs.  Martel's 
honor  —  he  had  come  almost  to  believe  this  himself  — 
would  many  men  have  done  that  —  and  what  credit  did 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  363 

he  get  for  it?  Indeed  he  could  tell  no  one,  honor  sealed 
his  lips  and  even  if  it  were  known,  people  would  be  too 
cynical  to  believe  in  the  honesty  of  his  motive.  A  bell 
rang  in  a  distant  part  of  the  house,  and  a  servant  came 
to  the  door.  He  heard  voices  in  the  hall.  Someone 
said  to  the  servant: 

"  Tell  Dr.  Beeckman  that  Dr.  Swayne  and  Dr.  Berger 
are  here,  please." 

He  heard  them  talking  in  low  voices  until  the  servant 
returning  asked  them  into  the  elevator  and  the  door 
closed  on  themj 

Storey  had  told  him  that  if  his  wife  asked  for  him,  he 
must  in  some  way  re-establish  himself  in  her  confidence 
—  but  he  knew  that  that  was  impossible  —  how  could 
he  explain  anything  to  a  woman  as  ill  as  she  was?  It 
was  ridiculous,  not  only  ridiculous  but  cruel  and  heart- 
less, to  him  and  to  her  as  well.  It  would  be  useless  for 
him  to  see  her  now.  It  would  be  much  more  sensible  to 
wait.  When  she  was  better  he  was  certain  that  he  could 
convince  her  of  his  innocence  and  he  would  swear,  swear 
to  himself  now,  that  he  would  be  true  to  her  —  accept 
the  inevitable  and  give  her  not  the  slightest  cause  for 
dissatisfaction  in  the  future.  He  had  made  his  bed  and 
he  would  lie  in  it.  But  why  all  this  commotion,  this 
extreme  concern.  He  had  heard  most  of  the  conversa- 
tion between  Storey,  Mr.  Bancroft  and  the  doctor, 
and  the  latter  had  said  that  there  was  no  immediate 
danger.  What  purpose  could  it  possibly  serve  to  at- 
tempt an  explanation  with  her  now. 

The  fire  flaring  up  for  a  moment,  revealed  the  room 
to  him  with  its  antique  paneling,  its  Dutch  pictures, 


364*  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

its  old  French  clock  ticking  loudly  in  the  intense  silence 
of  the  house. 

It  was  in  this  room  that  Mr.  Bancroft  had  told  him 
her  history  and  under  the  fascination  of  the  evidence  of 
her  immense  wealth,  he  had  first  tried  his  powers  on  her 
and  had  noticed  her  almost  immediate  response.  He 
was  afraid  that  he  must  admit  that  in  the  feeling  of  tri- 
umph that  swept  through  him,  he  had  forgotten  Mrs. 
Martel,  in  fact  he  had  neglected  her  for  a  time,  more 
than  had  been  prudent.  But  it  could  never  have  been 
for  long.  Constance  was  unsympathetic,  was  cold,  but 
she  how  wonderful,  how  perfect  she  was  and  he  lapsed 
into  a  reverie  in  which  he  reviewed  the  secret  journey 
they  had  made  to  Fernleigh  and  from  which  they  had 
just  returned  and  the  supreme  and  ecstatic  perfection  of 
their  visit  there.  A  visit  so  perfect  that  they  had  decided 
they  could  not  live  away  from  each  other  and  had  de- 
termined to  throw  convention  to  the  winds  and  to  go 
away  together.  That  afternoon  they  had  secured  pas- 
sage on  a  steamer  sailing  early  the  next  morning  and 
if  Storey  had  not  come  to  Mrs.  Martel's,  he  would  have 
been  at  his  apartment  now  making  ready  for  the  jour- 
ney. 

His  abstraction  had  been  so  deep,  that  he  had  not  no- 
ticed the  opening  of  the  elevator  door,  but  now  he  heard 
voices  just  outside  of  the  room  in  which  he  sat.  It 
was  the  doctors  taking  their  leave.  Dr.  Beeckman  had 
come  down  with  them.  No  servant  was  there  apparently 
and  they  spoke  so  that  he  could  hear  every  word  dis- 
tinctly. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  365 

"  You  agree  that  I  have  done  everything  possible," 
Dr.  Beeckman  was  saying. 

"  Everything,"  one  of  the  others  answered,  "  she  will 
not  live  through  the  night.  There  is  some  profound 
depression  there.  She  does  not  show  the  least  response 
to  the  stimulants.  It  is  hopeless,  I  am  afraid.  Do 
you  agree  with  me,  doctor  ?  "  the  voice  added,  apparently 
addressing  the  third  consultant. 

"  Quite,"  answered  another  voice,  one  with  a  distinct 
German  accent,  "  you  are  right ;  she  will  not  live  till 
morning." 

The  door  shut  again  and  he  heard  footsteps  going 
down  the  hall  and  up  the  stairs.  A  feeling  of  panic 
seized  him.  She  was  dying  —  what  could  he  do?  He 
hated  death  —  could  not  bear  to  be  in  the  atmosphere 
that  surrounded  it.  He  thought  with  terror  of  the  days 
which  would  follow.  The  tears,  the  condolences,  the 
part  he  would  have  to  play  in  it ;  the  depressing  and 
terrible  rites  he  would  of  necessity  have  to  go  through 
with.  He  feared  all  this,  but  most  of  all  he  feared 
Storey;  he  had  a  mortal  terror  of  him.  In  this  very 
room,  Bancroft  had  said  solemnly,  "  God  help  the  man 
who  harms  one  hair  of  her  head  if  Storey  is  alive."  He 
was  afraid  —  he  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  facing 
him.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  it  was  three  o'clock  —  the 
steamer  sailed  at  six.  There  was  still  time.  He  picked 
up  his  hat  and  overcoat,  put  them  on;  then  very  cau- 
tiously opening  the  great  door,  closed  it  softly  after  him 
and  passed  out  quickly  into  the  darkness  of  the  street. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

GOEFFREY  found  in  his  box  the  second  morning  after  he 
had  seen  Constance,  the  letter  which  the  junior  partner 
had  written  him  according  to  Storey's  instructions  and 
reached  the  latter's  house  at  nine.  Storey's  car  was 
waiting,  and  he  was  just  coming  out  as  Goeffrey  as- 
cended the  steps.  He  looked  tired  and  worn  and  he 
carried  his  great  bulk  in  a  way  Goeffrey  had  never  seen 
before,  as  if  it  were  too  heavy  for  him. 

"  If  you  hadn't  been  prompt,  you  would  have  missed 
me,"  he  explained.  "  I  am  going  to  Mrs.  Whitely's. 
Did  you  know  that  she  was  ill  ?  "  and  on  Goeffrey's 
replying  in  the  affirmative  and  asking  about  her,  he  said: 

"  She  is  slightly  better  this  morning  they  tell  me. 
Can  you  go  up  with  me?  Very  well  then,  get  in  and  I 
will  talk  to  you  on  our  way. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  he  began  as  the  motor  turned 
into  Fifth  Avenue,  "  about  your  friend  the  Jew.  It  is 
a  pity,  don't  you  think  so,  to  let  him  beat  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Goeffrey  answered,  "  but  when  I  dislike  a  per- 
son as  I  do  him,  I  can't  bear  to  see  him  even.  It  seems 
worth  a  lot  not  to  have  to." 

"  That's  all  very  well,  my  boy,  but  to  be  beaten,  think 
of  it,  and  by  a  man  like  that?  And  do  you  know  that 
he  made  a  mistake  in  selling  to  you  at  the  price  he 
did?  " 

366 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  367 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  Goeffrey  asked. 

"  He  sold  it  too  cheaply  as  it  has  turned  out.  I  have 
been  looking  into  the  matter  a  little  and  I  have  been 
told  that  in  that  part  of  town  property  is  advancing 
in  value  very  rapidly  and  is  already  worth  a  good  deal 
more  than  when  you  bought  it.  That  is  one  reason  why 
he  wants  to  get  it  back  again.  Have  the  contractors' 
suits  against  you  been  tried  yet?  " 

"  Not  yet,  but  they  come  up  very  soon,  I  believe." 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Storey  contemplatively,  "  it's  a  pity. 
If  you  could  carry  it  through,  it  would  be,  as  it  turns 
out,  a  very  successful  speculation." 

"  It  does  seem  a  pity,"  Goeffrey  answered,  "  to  start 
a  thing  like  that  and  then  have  to  let  it  go  = —  yes,  I 
would  like  to  finish  my  building,  but  I  had  to  stop  be- 
cause I  hadn't  any  money.  I  haven't  any  more  now 
than  then." 

"  How  about  your  inheritance  ?  "  asked  Storey. 

"  My  inheritance?"  Goeffrey  repeated  in  a  puzzled 
way.  His  despair  at  Doris's  disappearance  had  made 
him  forget  everything.  He  looked  at  Storey  and  saw 
that  a  smile  rested  on  his  care-worn  features. 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  I've  got  it  back  for  you,"  he  said,  and 
he  laid  a  hand  affectionately  on  Goeffrey's  knee. 

"My  money,"  gasped  Goeffrey.  "You've  got  it? 
But  how  was  it  possible?  " 

"  I  made  the  man  who  stole  it,  return  it,  that's  all." 

"  But  it's  wonderful,"  Goeffrey  cried.  Tears  came 
into  his  eyes.  In  an  instant  the  whole  world  had 
changed  for  him.  Under  the  stimulus  of  this  good  news, 


368  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

he  no  longer  felt  any  doubt  about  finding  Doris.  His 
discouragement  vanished.  He  could  take  her  abroad 
now,  lift  her  out  of  the  sordid  trials  and  worries  of  her 
past  life  completely  —  it  was  wonderful.  He  seized 
Storey's  hand  and  thanked  him  in  such  a  heartfelt 
broken  way,  that  again  the  latter  smiled. 

"  How  did  you  do  it,"  Goeff rey  asked.  "  I  can't  un- 
derstand it,  who  took  it  —  was  it  — ?  " 

Storey  knew  what  he  was  about  to  ask.  "  Yes,  it  was 
Pandolfi,"  he  answered,  "  you  have  seen  the  papers  this 
morning,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Yes,"  Goeffrey  replied,  "  how  tragic,  how  terrible 
—  was  he  there  about  my  money  when  Mr.  Davidge  shot 
him?" 

"  Yes,  and  if  Davidge  had  arrived  fifteen  minutes 
earlier,  I  doubt  if  you  would  ever  have  seen  your  money, 
my  boy."  And  he  explained  how  he  had  recovered  it. 
Goeffrey  thanked  him  again.  "  It  is  too  wonderful,"  he 
said,  "  I  can't  realize  it.  I  could  never,  never  tell  you 
how  much  I  owe  you. 

"  And  Mr.  Davidge,"  he  added  after  a  moment,  "  how 
awful  this  will  be  for  Nina.  He  will  be  tried  for  murder, 
I  suppose." 

"  He  is  mad  they  say  ^—  incurably  so.  He  will  never 
be  tried.  He  has  been  here  for  all  these  months  under 
the  very  noses  of  the  police  living  in  an  East  Side  board- 
ing house  under  an  assumed  name.  He  had  many  real 
grievances  against  Pandolfi  and  some  fancied  ones  and 
he  believed  that  Pandolfi  was  employing  detectives  to 
find  his  hiding  place.  The  publicity  Pandolfi  had 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  369 

gained  in  the  papers  lately  through  his  speculations  in 
Middle  States  stock,  had  also  excited  him  and  aroused 
his  resentment  and  he  had  gone  downtown  for  the  pur- 
pose of  killing  him.  Not  wishing  to  go  to  Pandolfi's 
office  unless  he  was  sure  of  finding  him  there,  he  tele- 
phoned and  was  told  that  he  had  left  a  short  time  before 
to  see  me.  He  came  then  directly  to  my  office  arriving 
between  Pandolfi's  first  and  second  visits  to  it." 

"And  was  Mr.  Davidge's  ruin  due  to  Pandolfi?" 

"  Unquestionably  —  some  of  the  money  was  lost  in 
speculations  in  which  they  were  jointly  interested,  but 
I  am  sure  that  Pandolfi  simply  appropriated  a  great 
deal  of  it  —  it's  believed  that  he  has  left  a  very  large 
estate.  I  don't  know  whether  the  creditors  of  Davidge's 
bank  will  ever  get  any  of  it  —  and  there  is  one  curious 
thing  about  it  which  may  complicate  things.  It  ap- 
pears that  Pandolfi  was  married." 

"  Married,"  cried  Goeffrey. 

"  Married,"  repeated  Storey,  "  and  if  anything  were 
needed  to  prove  how  thorough  a  scoundrel  Pandolfi  was, 
his  treatment  of  his  wife  would  show  it  conclusively.  In 
Davidge's  letter  to  me  —  the  one  sent  to  you  —  and 
which  Pandolfi  burned  in  my  office,  Davidge,  while  writ- 
ing mainly  to  ask  me  to  help  you,  went  pretty  thor- 
oughly into  Pandolfi's  past  as  much  as  he  knew  of  it  — 
and  among  other  things  was  the  story  of  his  marriage. 
Pandolfi  told  him  of  it  himself.  A  few  years  ago,  not 
many,  Pandolfi,  while  spending  some  months  in  London, 
met  a  young  girl  there  who  was  on  the  stage.  She  was 
very  beautiful  and  Pandolfi  became  infatuated  with  her. 


370  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

But  she  was  honest  and  finding  that  he  could  get  her  in 
no  other  way,  he  married  her.  They  lived  in  seclusion 
there  for  some  months  and  then  came  here.  Whether 
Pandolfi  had  in  his  mind  from  the  first  the  plan  which  he 
ultimately  carried  out,  no  one  can  tell,  but  on  their  ar- 
rival in  New  York,  he  told  her  that  the  ceremony  had 
been  a  pretended  one.  It  had  not  been  irregular  in  any 
way,  but  the  circumstances  under  which  it  had  been  per- 
formed had  been  just  unusual  enough  to  enable  him  to 
convince  her  —  and  she  was  very  young  you  see." 

"  Oh !  Oh !  "  cried  Goeffrey  —  so  many  emotions  were 
surging  up  in  him  that  he  was  gasping  for  breath. 
He  seized  Storey's  wrist  and  gripped  it  so  convulsively, 
that  the  latter  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  Oh,  the  brute,  the  unspeakable,  unspeakable  brute. 
And  yet  thank  God  for  what  you  have  told  me.  Mr. 
Storey  is  there  any  way  that  this  can  be  kept  from  the 
public,  I  mean  the  fact  that  Pandolfi  succeeded  in  con- 
vincing her  that  they  weren't  really  married  ?  " 

"  I  think  there  is  small  danger  of  that,"  Storey  an- 
swered. "  The  only  ones  who  knew  the  whole  story  so 
far  as  we  can  tell,  Pandolfi  and  Davidge,  are  both  most 
effectually  out  of  the  way.  Pandolfi  and  his  wife  might 
very  well  have  had  a  reason  for  concealing  their  marriage 
and  after  all  it  was  no  one's  affair  but  their  own.  How- 
ever, if  the  papers  should  get  hold,  of  it  I  have  some  in- 
fluence with  them.  But  you  must  finish  your  building," 
he  added.  "  Don't  forget  about  that." 

Goeffrey  full  of  his  thoughts  did  not  answer  at  first. 
He  was  thinking  of  how  much  this  wonderful  news  would 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  371 

mean  to  Doris.  How  far  it  would  go  toward  healing 
the  wounds  which  her  supposedly  equivocal  past  had 
dealt  her.  Presently  he  said : 

"  I  had  thought  that  I  might  go  abroad." 

'*  Go  if  you  want  to.  Get  a  trustworthy  man  to  take 
charge  of  it  for  you.  Do  you  know  of  anyone?  " 

"  There's  Stackpool,"  answered  Goeffrey.  "  He 
would  be  glad  to." 

"  Then  do  it  by  all  means.  Pay  the  Jew  and  the  con- 
tractors and  put  him  to  work  at  once.  Will  you?  " 

"  Oh !  yes,"  replied  Goeffrey,  "  I  will ;  and  thank 
you  again  and  again  for  all  that  you  have  done  for  me 
and  for  what  you  have  told  me.  It  has  made  such  a 
tremendous,  such!  an  absolute  difference  in  my  life,  that 
you  can  have  no  idea  how  much  I  owe  you." 

Storey  looked  at  him  quizzically.  "  Shall  I  tell  you 
what  I  think?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  please,"  answered  Goeffrey. 

"  I  think  that  you  have  been  looking  for  the  superla- 
tive woman  we  were  talking  about  one  day,  and  that  you 
have  found  her." 

The  motor  stopped  before  the  great  house  that  'Ala- 
dine  had  built  and  they  rang  the  bell.  The  day  was 
gloomy  with  gray  clouds  hanging  low  but  it  was  not 
cold.  Mr.  Bancroft,  who  was  waiting  for  Storey  in  the 
hall,  opened  the  door  himself.  Storey  knew  in  one 
glance  at  his  face  that  something  disastrous  had  taken 
place  —  such  consternation,  dismay  and  despair  were  de- 
picted in  it.  He  led  them  quickly  into  the  little  parlor. 

"  Whitely,"  he  said,  "  he  is  gone." 


372  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

"  Gone !  "  cried  Storey,  his  face  darkening. 

"  I  got  here,"  Mr.  Bancroft  continued,  speaking  with 
difficulty,  his  agitation  was  so  great,  "  just  after  you 
had  telephoned.  The  doctor  was  much  encouraged. 
The  nervous  complications  which  had  caused  him  so  much 
concern,  had  disappeared  somewhat  and  the  inflamma- 
tion had  made  no  further  progress.  It  seemed  she  had 
an  even  chance.  Just  after  I  came,  she  asked  for  her 
husband  and  the  doctor  told  her  that  he  would  send  for 
him  at  once.  No  one  had  seen  him  since  the  night  be- 
fore, but  it  was  supposed  that  he  had  gone  to  his  bed- 
room and  was  asleep.  A  servant  was  sent  to  tell  him 
and  getting  no  answer  to  his  knock,  he  opened  the  door. 
The  room  was  empty  —  no  one  had  been  there,  the  bed 
had  not  been  slept  in.  At  first  it  seemed  inexplicable 
to  us.  We  searched  the  house  from  top  to  bottom. 

"  In  the  meantime  Constance  was  waiting  for  him, 
we  made  excuses,  said  that  he  was  dressing  —  it  was 
frightful.  At  last,  a  maid  who  sleeps  in  one  of  the 
basement  rooms  and  who  had  gotten  up  during  the  night 
to  open  her  window,  said  that  she  had  seen  him  pass  hur- 
riedly and  turn  down  Fifth  Avenue.  She  thought  at  the 
time  that  he  might  have  gone  out  on  some  errand  made 
necessary  by  Constance's  illness,  but  she  remembers  look- 
ing to  see  what  time  it  was.  It  was  three  o'clock." 

"  And  Constance?  "  asked  Storey. 

Mr.  Bancroft  spread  his  hands  with  a  gesture  of 
hopeless  resignation. 

"What  could  we  say  and  besides  she  knew  —  knew 
that  he  had  failed  her  as  he  was  bound  to  do,  but  she 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  373 

began  to  fail  alarmingly.  The  scales  were  evenly  bal- 
anced before  and  that  one  thing  has  made  them  sink  the 
other  way.  No  one  knew  why  she  asked  to  see  him.  She 
may  still  have  had  faith  in  him  and  wished  to  be  reas- 
sured. But  that  does  not  matter.  She  knows  now  that 
at  the  vital  moment  he  has  failed  her,  and  whether  she 
believed  in  him  or  despised  him,  it  was  all  that  was 
needed." 

"  Couldn't  we  find  him,"  suggested  Goeffrey,  "  per- 
haps — » 

"  You  will  not  find  him,"  interrupted  Storey.  It  was 
all  clear  to  him  now,  and  he  swore  to  himself  a  bitter 
oath  that  Richard  should  be  punished,  punished  to  the 
uttermost. 

The  door  opened  and  the  physician  came  in.  At  the 
expression  of  gravity  on  his  face  they  got  up.  He 
went  to  Storey  with  a  look  of  apology  and  said: 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir,  I  have  done  all  that  I  could.  She 
asked  for  you  a  moment  ago.  But  I  doubt  if  she  will 
know  you.  Will  you  come?  " 

Storey  went  out  with  that  heavy  tread  which  Goeffrey 
had  noticed  before  and  together  he  and  the  physician 
mounted  the  stairs  and  went  into  the  great  apartment 
where  Constance  lay.  The  physician  closed  the  door 
and  with  distinctive  discretion,  went  to  the  far  end  of 
the  room. 

Until  that  moment,  Storey  had  not,  in  fact  could  not 
realize  that  Constance  was  dying  —  but  as  he  entered 
it,  he  knew  that  in  that  room  there  was  a  presence  un- 
seen, yet  awful  —  that  stern  and  implacable  master  who 


374.  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

conquers  all  things.  The  inanimate  objects  there 
seemed  aware  of  it,  the  draperies  hung  in  dejected  folds, 
the  furniture  stood  listlessly  about.  In  the  grate,  the 
fire  burned  furtively  as  if  afraid.  From  the  gloomy  sky, 
a  somber  and  even  light  filled  the  room. 

Storey  stood  for  a  moment  before  he  could  bring  him- 
self to  look  where  she  lay.  He.  gently  drew  a  chair  up 
beside  the  bed  and  sat  down  in  it  so  that  he  was  close 
to  her.  Her  eyes  were  closed  and  he  could  not  tell 
whether  she  breathed  or  not.  She  was  not  changed 
much.  There  were  faint  shadows  under  her  eyes  and 
her  pallor  was  unusual,  but  that  look  of  delicate  fatigue 
which  he  had  noticed  more  than  once  and  which  for  some 
reason  had  always  filled  him  with  dread,  rested  on  her 
face  very  deeply  now.  But  to  him  she  would  always  be 
the  same  —  always  beautiful,  elegant,  distinguished, 
with  something  fragile  about  her  which  never  failed  to 
move  him.  And  as  he  had  not  fully  realized  that  death 
was  there,  so  too  he  had  not  completely  understood  until 
that  moment,  what  it  meant  to  him  —  the  void  she  would 
leave  —  and  suddenly  brought  face  to  face  with  it,  it  over- 
powered him.  He  could  not  bear  it,  it  was  too  much. 
He  knew  for  the  first  time,  the  part,  present  or  absent, 
she  played  in  his  life.  How  she  filled  it.  How  absorbed 
he  was  in  her  and  at  the  thought  of  the  wounds,  the  pain, 
the  loneliness  he  must  suffer  —  he  was  afraid. 

"  Let  me  go  too,"  he  cried  to  himself,  "  my  burdens 
are  too  heavy." 

And  so  he  had  come  to  say  good-by.  He  could  be  of 
no  more  service  to  her.  For  how  many  years  he  had 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  375 

watched  her,  tried  to  guide  her,  helped  her  through  the 
difficult  places,  and  now  she  must  fare  forth  alone  on 
that  dark  and  mysterious  journey  —  pass  by  herself 
into  the  beyond,  into  the  valley  of  the  shadow  and  he 
must  stay.  A  terrible  revolt  sprang  up  in  him  which 
he  knew  that  he  must  conquer  but  which  left  an  anguish 
almost  insupportable.  He  felt  about  him,  that  relentless 
presence.  She  must  go,  and  alone,  and  he  was  there 
only  to  say  good-by  —  and  reaching  out  he  took  her 
hands  in  his  and  kissing  them  he  said,  to  himself,  very 
gently,  almost  with  confusion,  "  Good-by,  Con- 
stance." 

A  sigh  lifted  her  bosom  and  her  eyes  opened.  To 
that  soul  preparing  for  its  flight,  many  things  had  been 
made  plain.  She  looked  at  him,  her  lips  moved  slightly. 
He  thought  that  she  tried  to  smile  but  could  not;  but 
in  her  eyes  there  was  a  look  which  Storey  never  forgot, 
which  he  treasured  always.  A  look  which,  at  this  mo- 
ment of  parting,  told  him  that  she  comprehended  all, 
that  she  understood  at  last  the  value  of  what  he  had 
offered  her,  that  the  happiness  she  had  searched  for, 
had  been  close  beside  her  always,  and  she  had  not  known. 
A  look  which  was  an  avowal,  a  confession,  a  regret,  a 
prayer  for  forgiveness.  Storey  had  won  her  for  him- 
self at  last.  She  sighed  again  —  her  eyes  closed  —  the 
hands  which  held  hers  slipped  away  from  her.  She  was 
gone. 

But  not  alone.  Do  not  fear  for  her,  faithful  friend, 
for  on  high  where  her  spirit  flics,  the  Prince  of  Com- 
passion waits  for  her,  with  his  ineffable  smile. 


CHAPTER  XXVH 

AN  hour  later  Goeffrey  left  Constance's  house.  The 
clouds  were  breaking,  great  spaces  of  blue  infinitude 
showed  between  them  and  floods  of  sunshine  pouring  at 
intervals  through  these  spaces,  gilded  the  city.  He 
crossed  Fifth  Avenue  and  entering  the  park,  turned 
south.  An  enormous  loneliness  oppressed  him,  his  old 
feeling  of  isolation,  intensified  a  hundred  fold.  Not 
only  had  he  not  found  Doris,  but  Constance,  his  true,  his 
sincere  friend,  was  gone  forever.  He  was  sure  that 
she  had  meant  to  tell  him.  But  now  he  was  at  a  com- 
plete loss  to  know  what  to  do.  That  old  longing  for  the 
love  and  sympathy  of  woman  came  back  to  him.  He 
wanted  Doris  so  that  he  could  lay  his  head  upon  her 
tender  bosom  and  be  comforted. 

And  in  the  midst  of  his  thoughts  of  her,  his  loneliness, 
his  longing  for  her,  something  wonderful  happened.  He 
saw  her  —  she  was  walking  not  twenty  steps  in  front 
of  him.  He  ran  toward  her  crying :  "  Doris,  Doris," 
and  as  he  came  up  to  her,  he  saw  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"  Do  you  know?  "  he  asked  and  they  stood  silent  for  a 
moment  in  the  presence  of  that  sorrow  which  oppressed 
them.  But  not  for  long.  They  were  young  and  youth 
is  jealous  of  its  own  —  sunshine  was  flooding  the  trees 
about  them  and  overhead  rose  the  blue  infinitude  of  the 
sky,  and  yet  Goeffrey  saw  something  in  her  expression 

376 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  377 

—  a  reminder  of  the  old  days  —  something  hopeless  and 
sullen  —  which   would  have   daunted  him  had  he  not 
known  that  what  he  had  to  tell  her  would  banish  it  for- 
ever.    He  led  her  to  a  bench. 

"  Oh,"  he  said.  "  I  have  found  you,  Doris,  and  never, 
never  will  I  let  you  go  again.  How  could  you,  Doris, 
when  I  loved  you  so  much?  And,  Doris,  I've  got  my 
money  again  —  and  it  was  through  you  that  I  got  it 

—  and  there  will  be  no  more  worries,  no  more  troubles 
now.     We  will  go  abroad  together.     Oh,  my  love,  how 
wonderful  it  is  to  be  with  you  again  and  you  will  stay 
with  me  now?     Tell  me  that  you  will  —  that  you  will 
never  leave  me." 

She  looked  straight  in  front  of  her  without  answer- 
ing and  Goeffrey  saw  that  her  breast  was  rising  spas- 
modically. 

"  What  is  it,  dear,"  he  asked,  "  you  will  not  leave  me 
now  ?  " 

"  I  must,  Goeffrey."  She  caught  her  breath  with  a 
sob  and  he  saw  how  she  was1  fighting  to  keep  herself  un- 
der control  so  that  she  might  tell  him  what  she  felt  she 
must.  "  Listen,"  she  went  on,  "  Goeffrey,  I  can't  —  I 
can't  sacrifice  you  simply  because  I  love  you  —  that  isn't 
all  there  is  of  it  —  and  yet  it  is  all,  too.  It  is  simply 
that  I  love  you  so  much  that  I  can't  marry  you.  I  would 
rather  put  away  my  own  chance  of  happiness  a  thou- 
sand times  than  wrong  you  —  and  I  would  be  wronging 
you.  Oh!  Goeffrey,  don't  make  it  hard  for  me.  It's 
hard  enough  already  —  let  me  go.  You  will  thank  me 
some  day." 


378  THE  ESSENTIAL  THING 

Suddenly  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  —  to 
hide  the  tears  which  she  could  not  keep  back.  Goeffrey 
bent  close  to  her. 

"  Doris,"  he  said,  "  you  would  not  be  wronging  me. 
Your  marriage  with  Pandolfi  was  not  a  fradulent  one, 
not  pretense  —  it  was  real  —  you  were  married  to  him 
from  the  beginning.  You  were  his  wife  —  never  any- 
thing else." 

She  took  down  her  hands  and  he  saw  an  expression 
of  awe,  of  wonder  on  her  face.  She  looked  again 
straight  ahead,  but  she  was  transfigured,  as  if  the 
portents  of  the  future  so  hopeless,  so  bitter,  which 
she  had  faced  so  courageously,  had  vanished,  had 
been  replaced  by  a  vision  of  unhoped  for,  undreamed  of, 
incomparable  promise. 

"  In  Davidge's  letter  which  you  sent  me,"  Goeffrey 
went  on,  "  he  told  about  it.  He  knew.  Pandolfi  had 
told  him." 

She  was  still  silent  and  Goeffrey  watching  her  expres- 
sion, saw  a  shadow  rest  on  her  face. 

"Ah!  but  Goeffrey,  7  didn't  know  — I  — I—" 

She  looked  at  him  appealingly  as  if  asking  to  be  re- 
assured. 

"  Oh,  my  dearest,"  he  interrupted.  "  You  said  that 
you  would  not  marry  me  because  you  would  be  wrong- 
ing me — now  you  will  not  be.  You  are  surely  not 
thinking  of  sacrificing  yourself  further ;  if  you  must,  do 
it  in  such  a  way  that  it  will  make  me  happy  —  then 
something  at  least  will  be  gained." 

For  the  first  time  she  smiled. 


THE  ESSENTIAL  THING  379 

"  Oh,  Goeffrey,  how  good  you  are  to  me,  how  kind," 
she  put  a  hand  on  his. 

"  Then  be  kind  to  me.     Is  it  all  right,  dear?  " 

"  Listen,  Goeffrey,"  she  answered,  "  I  must  speak  of 
the  past  just  once,  then  let  us  forget  it  forever.  You 
know  everything  now  —  in  spite  of  it,  are  you  certain 
that  you  can  trust  me,  that  never  one  shadow  of  doubt 
will  come  to  you,  that  you  will  always  unalterably  be- 
lieve in,  me?  Look  at  me  and  tell  me." 

And  Goeffrey,  looking  straight  into  her  eyes  with  his 
candid  and  generous  glance,  answered: 

"  Always,  there  is  no  one  so  true,  so  brave,  so  honest. 
Is  it  all  right?" 

"  Yes,  dear,"  she  answered,  and  that  soft  blaze  came 
into  her  eyes,  "  it's  all  right." 

Goeffrey  fell  to  kissing  her  hands. 

"  Don't,  dear,"  she  said  softly,  "  people  are  looking." 

"  I  want  them  to  look,"  he  cried.  "  I  want  them  to 
know.  I  want  the  whole  world  to  know  that  you  are 
mine." 


THE  END 


V 


s 


\J 


A     000  075  067     9 


